


Heart of Gold

by ohpleaselarry



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Crankiplier - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Anal, Crying, Death, Denial, Fingering, Fluff, Hidden Relationship, Horses, Kissing, Lots of kissing, M/M, Overstimulation, Smut, Sneaking Around, cross dressing, ethan is 19, handjobs, ive stretched their age difference a bit, mark’s 30, none of them tho dont worry, outlaw!mark, rdr AU, red dead redemption au, rich boy ethan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:13:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohpleaselarry/pseuds/ohpleaselarry
Summary: The year is 1899. Ethan Nestor, sheltered son of a rich businessman, finds himself running with a gang of outlaws, one of whom is Mark Fischbach.Some gun duelling, thievery, and a bit of cross dressing later, Ethan finds himself falling for the gunslinger. He can only hope the man won’t betray him when they follow the map to his family inheritance.ORThe Red Dead Redemption II au I’ve been wanting to write for months.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor, Markiplier/CrankGameplays
Comments: 31
Kudos: 326





	Heart of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS. I’ve been wanting to do a red dead redemption 2 au since the first time I played the game, I just never had the right ship. Ever since I started writing crankiplier this fic’s possibility has been in the back of my mind and I just couldn’t wait any longer. 
> 
> Just some info in case you haven’t played the game: the year is 1899. The age of outlaws and gunslingers is nearing an end as the law takes a stand. If you aren’t a history junky, think cowboys. Wild West. Before vehicles but after electricity, ya know? Yeah you get it. And If you are a history junky: pls don’t yell at me for inaccuracies trust me I know already lmao 
> 
> Also, this info will be useful later: $200 in 1899 is equivalent to a lil more than $6k in 2020. Additionally, a single 400 troy oz gold bar in 1899 was worth $8k, which equates to roughly $240k today. You’ll get why I’ve mentioned this later. 😉
> 
> Hopefully with this written, I can finally get back to y’all’s prompts!! I’ve been itching to write them but couldn’t focus on anything until I’d written these past few fics! Sorry about that, I hope you understand my mind cannot handle NOT writing something when I am so ready to. 
> 
> Ps: I love rdr2 so fuckin much. I’ve finished the game twice and am still playing just for the trophies now. You don’t even need to play the first game to play this one. It’s such a great great game and it’s long af (40 hrs. Just for the storyline!!) so if you’re bored in isolation it’s honestly so worth the $60. The beginning snow chapter is a bit slow but only bc it basically doubles as a tutorial. After you complete the snow level and get to free roam I swear you’ll get invested.💚

The start of the worst day of Ethan’s life is like any other. 

He wakes at nine-ish, stepping out of bed onto the cold marble floors, tip toeing to the toilets and brushing his teeth. He can already smell the sausage and eggs downstairs. Once dressed, he makes his way down and kisses his mother on the cheek. Andrew already sits at the table, reading the daily Saint Denis newspaper. 

“Ethan!” 

The boy startles at his name, turning to find his father, already dressed in his usual suit, beckoning him with two fingers from the hallway. 

He steps up to him nervously. His father is a busy business man, so they aren’t the closest of relations, never having had time to talk that much. 

“You’re almost 19, son, I think it’s time you help me out a little. You and Bernard take Spencer out for a ride to Lakay. When you get there deliver it to the person it’s addressed to. This part is important..do not look at the name until you arrive, you understand?” 

“Yessir. Go now?” Ethan confirms eagerly. He’s never been made to know what his father does, what exactly his business is for, so he’s excited to learn. Andrew didn’t get to start working with father until he was 20!

“Go now, and don’t forget your mother and I love you. We have high hopes for you.”

Ethan’s eyebrows furrow, finding it strange to hear him say such a thing. It’s more something he’d say on special occasions. The boy looks around the room, but Andrew’s face is deep in his paper, and his Mother’s back is to him, tending to her plants in the kitchen window sill. 

He shrugs and skips off to his room, putting on his barely worn boots, and his Irish cap. 

Outside in the stables, Bernard is waiting, tightening the reins on his horse Lilly. Spencer, Ethan’s horse, is already tied to the small wagon. The boy climbs up into the passenger seat. Bernard takes his place next to him. He’s quiet, mouth set in a straight line. 

“Everything okay?” Ethan asks. Bernard nods, but he doesn’t look in his eyes. The envelope in Ethan’s pocket feels heavy. He’s curious to see who it’s addressed to, but refuses to disobey his father’s orders. 

“We should get going. You ready?” Bernard asks, not really answering the question. 

“Ready..everyone’s acting weird today.” The boy replies as they start moving. Bernard doesn’t say anything, and Ethan quickly forgets about it as they make their way out of the town. 

He hasn’t left Saint Denis often. Only for the rare trip to his grandmother’s house near Rhodes. When she passed a few years back they stopped going. He’s missed travelling, seeing the different people, the landscape, the wild animals. 

As they ride, the boy quickly forgets about the strange errand. He sees the alligators lurking in the swamp as they get closer to Lakay, the moss trees hanging over cobblestone bridges, the occasional gunshot as someone scores a hunt. It’s just nice to get out from the bustle of the city, where nothing stops moving and it’s never quiet. 

They aren’t even that far out of town, and yet it’s already so different. Only the chirping of the cicadas and the stomping of the horses hooves. 

“We’re here.” Bernard interrupts his thoughts. Ethan reaches into his pocket and pulls out the envelope. 

“Alright, we must deliver to..” he trails off, eyebrows furrowing as he reads his own name, scribbled frantically onto the paper in a rush, the envelope itself hardly sealed, “I don’t understand.” 

Opening the letter, Ethan reads the few sentences his father wrote for him.

‘Almost 20 years ago I was responsible for the murder of an old friend’s family. I have tried to keep you out of our business to ensure your safety. Bernard will take you to his sister’s cabin up at O’Creagh’s Run. There is a stash, your inheritance, hidden in a tree 20 paces north from a fence post around her cabin. It is marked with—‘

Ethan stops reading, looking up at Bernard, who just stares ahead blankly. 

“I don’t understand. He’s saying goodbye. He’s sending us away.” 

“Your father’s old friend was released from jail a few days ago. He served for the murder of his family. I’m afraid he is..visiting Mr. Nestor.”

Ethan brews this over, eyebrows furrowing. He tucks the letter back into the envelope and then into his coat pocket, looking out at an alligator’s head poking through the top of the swamp nearby as his throat feels suddenly dry. He knows what this means. 

“Will he spare my mother? Or Andrew?” 

“Thankfully your father took great measures to keep you out of any public documents. You weren’t born when this murder took place. Your mother helped to ensure this man would go to jail. Your brother is partly, yet accidentally, also responsible.”

“Let’s return home. On the way, I want you to explain what happened.” 

Bernard shakes his head, hands tightening on the reigns, eyes darting around as if there’s a single soul watching them. 

“I’m not certain they are gone. Even if they are, you could be walking into a gruesome scene—“

“I don’t care! Take me home!” Ethan cries, eyes prickling angrily. Everything he thought he knew was wrong. Now that he thinks of it, what even is his fathers business? Why didn’t Ethan ever leave the house? Why does his brother hardly speak to anyone, eyes always downcast? 

“Tell me what happened. Why did father murder this old friend’s family?” Ethan asks as the wagon starts to move once more. 

“I’m sorry..I don’t know. Mr. Nestor was careful to never tell me. He didn’t want you to know.” 

Ethan leans back and fiddles with his thumbs. He’s frightened for what he might find when he returns home. 

-

“Okay. We will pass the house up, see if anyone is outside. If not, we park down the road and pose as newspaper writers. If there’s a stranger outside, we leave town and we don’t look back, okay?” Bernard talks as they make their way back into Saint Denis, the horse’s hooves clacking against the brick streets. 

Their large house sits between a few others, separated by large lawns and gardens and fences. Private and rather secluded for the area. 

They casually drive on. Ethan looks out at the houses as they pass, as if he’s just admiring, not specifically looking. 

There’s two men on his front porch. He doesn’t recognise either. 

“Okay..we leave town.” Bernard murmurs next to him. Ethan doesn’t look for too long, heart racing. He knows what he’s going to do before he’s even fully planned it out, but his stomach still flips nervously. 

As soon as they pass the neighbour’s large bushes that hide them from view, Ethan scrambles out of the wagon. He stumbles, knees scraping against the street as he throws himself from the moving wagon. They weren’t going that fast, so he recovers quickly, hardly hearing Bernard yell his name as he lunges over the neighbour’s short picket fence and sprints across their yard. 

Once he reaches the far back, he scrambles through the rough bushes, probably getting cuts everywhere, but unable to feel it with the adrenaline. He jumps up and hops the tall fence that separates the two houses, easily landing on his feet in his own lawn. He’s suddenly thankful for the home gymnastics classes his mother put him into. 

Running across his large lawn, carelessly taking a shortcut right through the freshly planted tulips, he reaches the back porch, and a sudden wave of uncertainty washes over him. 

What if his family is dead? What if they are not? What will Ethan even do either way? 

He hears muffled talking inside and doesn’t bother pondering for too long. The door is quiet when he opens it, but the wooden floors could be a problem. It doesn’t matter how high quality they are, wooden floors always squeak. 

Ethan chews on his lip and eventually decides to slip off his shoes, stuffing them into his satchel and using his socked feet for more silence. 

The voices are down the hall, sounding like they’re in the sitting room. Ethan nervously tiptoes closer. Nearly halfway down the hallway, he puts his weight on a particularly loud squeak. The voices hush. Ethan holds his breath, hoping nobody will investigate. 

A man steps out from the sitting room, a shotgun in hand. Ethan doesn’t recognise him. The boy immediately turns to run, but his socks cause him to slip up just enough for the man to catch him first. 

“Let me go! Stop!” Ethan cries as he’s dragged down the hallway and into the room. There’s four or five other men standing around what looks like father’s safe from his office. 

“Who’s this?” Asks one of the men. They’re all dressed rather nicely, but Ethan can’t help but notice the blood stains on a few of their clothings. He knows now his family is dead. 

“Found him sneaking down the hall. Errand boy, maybe?” The man holding Ethan says. 

“I’m not an errand boy! My name is Ethan Nestor and I’m going to kill all of you for what you did to my family!” Ethan shrieks, struggling against the man restraining him. 

The men collectively laugh, looking around at each other. 

“I fucking knew the rumours were true. Nestor had another son. Well, well, Ethan. Would you like to buy your life with the code to this safe? We will break it open either way so I don’t really care.” The same man says. Ethan can only assume he is the old friend Bernard mentioned. 

Speaking of Bernard..

“Let him go, he doesn’t know the code.” Bernard says, stepping into the room. He holds his pistol at his side, shaky with either nerves or age, Ethan isn’t sure. 

“Oh, shut up old man.” The old friend says, gesturing to his men, who lunge for Bernard. Ethan can only watch in horror as his family’s long term butler’s throat is slit, bleeding out onto the expensive carpet below as he falls into a lump on the floor. 

“Anyway. Let’s just take the safe. Don’t want to blow it here and alert the law. Tie the boy up and bring him as well. I’m sure a living Nestor son would go for a good buck to our friends back in Blackwater.” 

“You haven’t aged a day, Peter.” 

Ethan looks back to the doorway, where a new person stands. He’s very tall and looks honestly just scary. Ethan shrinks back into the man holding him. 

“Ah, Hershel, what a pleasant surprise,” Peter says, hand on his holstered gun, “hope you don’t think you’re going to take this from me.” 

Hershel grins, and then there’s more people stepping up behind him and in the other doorway. 

“Of course I am. Only question is do you want to die today? You’re outnumbered.” Hershel says, motioning to his group. 

“I’ve made it out alive with less men than this, Hershel.” Peter says, then he draws. 

There’s a loud clicking noise as everyone in the room follows suit, guns pointing at each other. Ethan shakes in fear and looks over the new group. 

Someone’s looking right at him, gun pointed at him. 

Ethan feels like he might cry, until the man’s eyes flicker down to the floor then back up to him. The boy glances down and sees Bernards pistol on the floor in front of him. He looks back to the man and realises that he’s pointing a gun at the man who’s holding Ethan, not Ethan himself. 

“One gunshot and the law will be surrounding us. You know how it is in the city.” Hershel says. 

After a few beats of silence, Peter holsters his weapons. Everyone else copies his movement. 

“Fine. Don’t get too comfortable with that loot.” He says, then turns like he’s going to leave, but swirls on his heel and shoots. 

One of Hershel’s group falls, then the room explodes in sound as the shootout begins. The man holding Ethan releases him and the boy falls to the floor, picking up Bernards gun. He turns towards Peter’s group but he doesn’t have the courage to do much of anything. He watches Peter and another man smash his sitting room window and climb out, bullets hitting the walls and ruining their expensive wallpaper. 

Ethan can only sit and watch, stomach flipping. 

When the noise quiets, someone steps up and takes his arm. Ethan scrambles away, holding the gun out shakily like he might shoot. Hershel’s group is spread around now. Looting the men, picking up the safe, or looking out of the window where Peter escaped. 

“Hey, you’re alright. There’s no need for that, we won’t hurt you.” It’s the same man who motioned him for the gun in the first place. He has dark hair sticking out from under his hat, stubble lining his jaw, and his hands are steady as can be, held out like he’s asking for the gun. 

Ethan places the gun in his hands and feels his eyes prickling. 

“Three bodies upstairs. One of them was him.” 

“Nestor?” 

“Yep.” 

Hershel sighs and shakes his head, like his plan for stealing the safe wasn’t to murder Ethan’s family. Ethan presses his fists to his eyes and tries not to cry. 

“Why were they going to take you?” The dark haired man asks. Ethan just shrugs as if he doesn’t know. Well, he sort of doesn’t. It would only take some explosive to open the safe, right? He doesn’t know why else they’d need him. 

“What’s your name?” 

“E-Ethan.” The boy says, decidedly not saying his last name. If nobody knows he exists, he’d rather not tell. Especially to a group of outlaws. 

“Mark,” the man replies, holding out a hand to shake hello, “you live here?” 

Ethan nods hesitantly, shaking his hand, trying to keep an eye on him and the rest of these men at the same time. He doesn’t exactly trust these people, especially as they poke around the room and steal his family’s expensive things. 

“Law’s coming!” Someone exclaims, stepping into the room. Immediately, everyone halts their looting and files out of the room, two of them carrying the safe. 

“Come with us. It’s not safe here.” Mark says, standing up and pulling Ethan up with him. 

“Oh and your lot is safer?” Ethan asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. 

“At the moment, yes. I don’t know why Peter wanted you but he’d be back to fetch you soon as we leave. We’re not the greatest people but we wouldn’t do the shit that man would to ya.” Mark steps over to the doorway, ushering him over. 

Ethan exhales shakily and follows, not looking down at Bernard’s dead body. The group leaves out the back, through the gate on the back tall fence, where horses and one wagon waits. They load the safe onto the wagon. Mark leads him to his horse, a large white beauty with a braided tail. 

The man lifts Ethan onto the horse without much effort, then climbs on himself. 

“Hold on. It’s a long ride.” He says, so Ethan does, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist as the group quickly takes off. They ride away from the town, not on any roads. Ethan looks back over his shoulder as his home disappears behind him. He wonders if he made the right choice to stay with this group, or if it really matters in the end anyway. 

“What’s with the stray?” A man asks from the horse next to them. It’s been about an hour and they’ve slowed down to just a casual ride along actual dirt roads and paths. Ethan doesn’t recognise anything anymore, so they’re somewhere new. 

“He didn’t have anywhere to go, Tyler.” 

“You a live in cook or something?” Tyler now asks Ethan, who just frowns and looks the opposite direction, out into the trees. They’re far from the swamp, now. There’s more flowers over here. 

Ethan lies his head on Mark’s back, with his head turned from Tyler, and let’s himself finally cry a bit, quietly. 

His whole family is dead. 

-

The sun is setting by the time the horses finally slow. Ethan lifts his head and peeks over Mark’s shoulder. There’s a camp set up in a secluded area surrounded by trees. More people mill about, cooking food or doing chores. As they ride in, the people come over to see them. 

“Did you get it?” A woman asks. 

“Hell yes we did. Barry was shot but he should be fine.” Hershel says. Once the horse is hitched, Mark climbs off and helps Ethan down. The boy crosses his arms and shakes his jelly legs out from the long ride. 

“They’re going to ask questions. Try to answer them or they won’t trust you. You’re going to want their trust.” Mark says as they walk away from the horses and towards the people. 

Everyone’s gathered around the safe, now unloaded onto the ground near a campfire. 

“Someone new?” A girl asks excitedly, stepping up to them. She’s younger, maybe closer to Ethan’s age than Mark’s. 

“This is Ethan. Would you mind setting a bed up for him, Kathryn?” 

Kathryn grins and reaches out, taking Ethan’s hand to pull him away. 

“Sure! There’s space in mine, or Tyler’s—“ she pauses when Ethan pulls his hand away and steps back to Mark’s side, balling a fist into the man’s coat. Mark watches him, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Set him up in mine, then.” He says. Kathryn nods and walks away. 

“I know you’re overwhelmed, but you have to trust them. This is my family, okay? I wouldn’t leave you with them if I didn’t trust them myself.” Mark turns from the group to say to him, quietly so nobody else hears. Ethan chews on his lip and finally decides to speak. 

“T-the safe, I dont think it’ll..” 

“Mark! Would you like to do the honours?” Hershel calls. They both turn to find the leader holding a match. There’s a stick of dynamite attached to the safe. 

“Sure.” Mark says, then walks over to the safe. Ethan stays put, shivering a bit. It’s colder wherever they are. He had attempted to keep track of where they were going on the ride over, but he just eventually couldn’t keep up. Too many trees and roads. All he know is they went west from Saint Denis, and probably North seeing as it’s colder. 

Once the explosive is lit, everyone ducks away. Mark steps back up to him. They all watch the explosion, loud in the quiet night. 

The safe, slightly blackened, still stands perfectly as it was. Mark looks at Ethan. 

“I don’t think the safe will break, you’ll need the code.” The boy finally says. 

Mark sighs, taking off his hat to run a hand through his hair. Black. It looks smooth. Ethan watches him dazedly. He has trouble getting his thoughts straight. Trying to accept that his family is dead. That he won’t be returning home. That he’s just run from the law with a gang across probably a whole state. 

“You hungry?” The man sighs, replacing his hat on his head. Hershel sits crouched next to the safe, attempting to crack it with his ear next to the dial. 

Ethan shakes his head no, looking up into the sky at the stars. His stomach turns as he remembers his father’s words this morning. He knew he was going to die. Why did he protect Ethan?

Mark frowns and places a hand on his shoulder, leading him away from the group and towards a covered tent. Inside the flap, a well cushioned cot sits in the corner. A table with various belongings, and a makeshift bed on the ground next to that. It’s rather small, but maybe Ethan is just used to his large room, not having much comparison. 

The boy steps up to the small makeshift bed and sits, wanting nothing but for this day to be over. Mark turns to leave. 

“Don’t go.” Ethan says before he can think not to. His cheeks heat up as he pulls his knees to his chest, feeling a bit panicky. He doesn’t know why he trusts Mark, but he just seems different compared to the rest of the group somehow. 

The man smiles sadly and steps over, crouching to his level. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out Bernard’s pistol, setting it up behind the leg of the table next to the pillow side of Ethan’s bedroll. 

“You won’t need this. I’ll be right outside, okay? Just get some sleep.” 

“Why are you helping me? Why not leave me for Peter?” Ethan asks, speaking more than he has thus far, lying back on the bed. 

“You remind me of me..once upon a time. Our leader, Hershel, brought me in when I didn’t have anywhere else. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want, but I can keep you safe. From Peter.” Mark pulls the blanket over Ethan, who blinks sleepily. 

“Thank you.” The boy murmurs. Mark nods, reaching up to kill the flame of the lantern on the table, before leaving out of the tent. 

“The stray staying?” What sounds like Tyler asks outside once Mark leaves the tent. 

“Not sure. Don’t call him a stray.” Mark replies. 

“Protective already? What’s up with you? You never bring anyone in. If anything, you get annoyed when any of us bring new people.” Tyler sounds like he’s teasing. Ethan isn’t sure if he likes the guy yet or not. 

“Yeah well he’s just a kid. If he wants to stay I’ll find something productive for him to do. Help out around.” 

“Alright. Hershel wants to talk to you. About the kid.” 

“Ethan.”

“Right.” 

Mark peeks back into the tent. Ethan looks at him, wondering if the man can see his eyes open in the darkness. He looks in for a few seconds, before turning and walking away. 

Ethan pulls the blanket up to his neck, shivering a bit, and tries to fall asleep when he feels so horrible. 

-

Time rolls along. The moon shines bright, then makes way for the sun to rise. The birds start chirping. The campfire outside barely cracks, the flame nearly out. Ethan turns his head as Mark wakes. The man steps out of his cot yawning, blinking sleepily when he sees Ethan’s awake. 

“Early riser too?” He asks, voice impossible deeper. 

“No.” Ethan replies, turning onto his side with a frown. He’s more than exhausted. Physically and mentally. His family is dead. He wonders where Spencer is, if he’s still just hitched on the wagon in front of his house. Maybe someone turned him in. Or maybe not. 

“You didn’t sleep? At all?” Mark asks, standing out of the bed and slipping his shoes on. 

“Sorry.” Ethan murmurs. Mark steps over to him and starts to pull the blanket away. The boy frowns, shivering. 

“No need to apologise. C’mon.” Mark says, pulling him up and leading him to the cot instead. 

Ethan climbs in. It’s warm and much more comfortable. The blanket is lots thicker and also heavier, and the boy feels himself warming up more and more by the second. 

“I can’t.” He mumbles, so so tired but his body refusing to drift off. 

Mark sits on the edge of the bed. 

“The only way in here is through that flap. I’ll sit right here, alright?” It’s like he knows what Ethan needs without the boy even knowing himself. 

“Okay.” He whispers in reply. As soon as his eyes close, he sees Bernard, his blood staining their hardwood floors, dead. 

Ethan’s eyes shoot open, startled. Mark places a hand on his wrist. 

“Hey, I want you to picture something in your mind. Have you ever been up north? Up in the Grizzlies? Once I was up there, and I found some bear tracks..” as Mark tells his story, Ethan pictures it. The man, suited up in fur, stepping along in the snow, gun in hand, his breath visible in the cold air. Ethan’s only seen snow once but not much. He wonders what it would be like for it to blanket the whole ground. Crunch under his boots. 

Unable to think of anything bad while Mark gives him these visuals, Ethan drifts off quickly as his tired mind finally gives up. 

-

Ethan sits up with a gasp, shivering as if his dream were true. Him, frozen in snow. His blood coating it red. His tears turned to ice as he dies. 

Eyes darting around the tent, he finds he’s alone. He can’t breathe. Nobody’s here. His family is dead. Peter could find him any second—

“Hey, thought I heard you stir.” Mark peeks into the tent with a smile. The sun shines behind his head, so it must be two-ish. Ethan wishes it would actually warm the place up. 

“My family is dead.” The boy says, eyes wide. Saying it out loud, it’s clear. He’s the only one left. The only Nestor living. He assumed this would make him cry, but suddenly he has accepted this. He’s almost 19 as well. He will have to make it on his own. Unless..

He looks to Mark, who’s just standing there in shock. 

“Do you know where O’Creagh’s Run is?” Ethan asks, discreetly reaching into his coat pocket to find his father’s letter still remains, though a bit crumpled. He leaves it there, not daring to take it out while surrounded by outlaws. 

“Vaguely..what happened to your family?” Mark steps into the tent and sits on the end of the cot. Ethan folds his legs crossed to give him room. 

“They were murdered..recently. That’s why I was living there.” The boy replies. Technically it’s true, but Mark won’t take it the way he’s saying. He will assume the Nestor family took him in. Ethan just doesn’t want to tell him yet, not until he trusts him completely. It’s hard for him to trust him now, when they only met because the man arrived to rob his family. 

“I’m sorry. I see now why you reminded me of a younger me. Hershel took me in when my family was killed. He helped me get revenge later on..though it didn’t exactly feel like closure.” Mark sighs, eyes glossing over as he looks away. Ethan had told Peter himself that he would kill his group, but in only a day he’s realised it won’t happen. 

Ethan doesn’t have the want to kill Peter for what he did. He wouldn’t mind seeing the man go to jail, perhaps. Either way, he’s far away from him. Probably. 

“Does Peter know where we are?” 

“No, don’t worry about that. We’re hours away. We’re in West Elizabeth, a few miles from a small town called Strawberry. We got word that Peter will be around Saint Denis for a few months, get some money around there, then he wants to take a boat to god knows where. He has no plans to come around here.” Mark assures him, eyes sincere. He’s rather nice, especially for the type he runs with. Ethan is thankful for it, anyway. He feels like he will be safe with Mark. Like he’s protected. He can’t explain the feeling, it’s just in his gut. 

“Does Hershel want me to leave?” Ethan finally asks, picking at a thread on the blanket, eyes downcast. He feels a bit like an intruder here. So clearly not meant to be with these strong gun wielding people. 

“These people trust me. I’ve been with them since I was young. If I want you here then they will as well.” 

“Do you want me here?” The boy asks, peeking up at Mark, who’s eyes don’t stray from his, dark in the shadows of his hat. 

“Yes.” He replies, no hesitation, no explanation. 

Ethan manages his first smile since yesterday. Mark smiles back, eyes actually sparkling. He’s quite handsome, though he’s definitely older. Maybe 30ish. 

The boy looks away again, stomach flipping as he remembers his mother’s words when she found Ethan in her room at 6 years old, playing with her dolls that she had when she was a child. He’d been playing a wedding, two boy dolls at the front of the makeshift aisle. 

“Boys cannot like boys, Ethan. Your uncle was hanged for this sin.” 

Ethan hadn’t understood it then, but he did eventually, and he’d never let himself _look_ at a male again, not in the way he was before. 

But Mark...he’s like the forbidden apple in the garden of Eden. So beautiful. Right there. Smiling with his perfect teeth right in front of him. 

“Lunch!” A woman calls from outside of the tent. Ethan blinks in surprise, realising they’ve been just smiling at each other for just slightly too long of a beat. 

Mark stands, clearing his throat. 

“You must be hungry. Ready to meet everyone?” 

Ethan takes a deep breath. Okay. He’s here now. He’s officially running with a gang of gunslingers. He can do this, right? 

-

“Then Mark steps in and he shoots him just before I could be killed!” Wade says with a grin. Ethan claps excitedly, eyes wide at the insane story. 

“Wow! And all of that happened in two hours?” Ethan asks. Wade waggles his eyebrows, sipping at a coffee. 

“Stop distracting him,” Mark says as he steps up to the table, “you need to eat.” 

Ethan shrugs, looking down at his bowl of deer stew and vegetables. It’s the same meal nearly every day so far. Though it’s only been a week, Ethan feels like he’s gotten so much better mentally. He’s pretty used to the way it works around here. He does chores around camp to help out, and spends the rest of the time hearing stories from all these people who haven’t had anyone new to share to in years. It’s nice. 

The only person who hasn’t shared much is Mark himself, strangely. So many people’s stories include the man, but when Ethan tries to pry the outlaw just laughs and makes himself busy instead. 

“Not that hungry.” He replies, swirling his spoon in the stew. 

“Well if you hurry and eat I was thinking I’d take you on a ride, do some shooting.” 

Ethan straightens up, looking at him with excited eyes. 

“I’ve never shot a gun.” 

“Yes, well, if you run with us you’ll need to. For hunting or protection, you’ll need to.” He seems sad or something today, not meeting their eyes, staring around camp like he’s searching for something. 

Ethan bends his neck and takes a few bites, before shoving the leftovers to Wade, who takes it with a grin. The boy stands and starts to button his coat up. 

Mark leads him over to the tent on the far side of the camp, near the horses. He picks up a rifle, slinging it onto his back, then grabs a box of ammunition. 

Ethan steps up to Mark’s horse, Chica, petting her head. 

“We’ll get you your own horse eventually.” Mark says as he prepares the saddle on her. Ethan pouts, leaning forward to kiss between her eyes. The horse bristles happily. 

“I have one back home. Spencer. He might be in the stables if someone was nice enough to turn him in.” He attempts to climb onto the horse himself, but he’s never ridden Spencer when he’s not attached to a wagon. He actually has no clue how to really ride them. 

Thankfully, Mark’s there to help him up when he just stands there with his foot awkwardly stretched into the stirrup. 

“I’m going to assume this Spencer never wore a saddle in his life?” Mark asks, climbing onto the horse as well. He clicks his tongue at Chica and they’re off, through the woods for the first time in a week. 

“Shut up. I didn’t leave the house much.” Ethan thinks about telling Mark now, about how he’s a Nestor. How he probably knows the code to the safe that’s still locked up in Hershel’s tent while they try to find stronger explosives. 

They ride for what only seems to be about ten minutes, until Mark stops at what seems to be just a random part of the woods. Ethan doesn’t know how he knows his way around. There must be marks on the trees that the boy doesn’t notice, maybe?

“Where are we?” Ethan asks as Mark ties Chica’s reigns to a tree and they set off into the trees. 

“Far enough away that the town shouldn’t hear any gunshots. Don’t want to attract any unwanted attention.” They climb up a bit of a hill in the woods, then come out onto a rock clearing. They’re on a bit of a mountain that overlooks the woods. Ethan takes a breath, looking at the view. It’s quite nice. 

“You really didn’t go out much.” Mark says, looking at him curiously. Ethan sticks his hand in his pocket and feels the letter still hidden inside. He shrugs. 

“Nope. Went to Rhodes to visit my grandmother sometimes. Mostly just stayed in Saint Denis.” 

Mark steps up to the hip height rock standing near the edge of the cliff. He pulls empty glass bottles from his satchel and places them on the rock. Target practice. 

The man takes the rifle from his back and loads it up, then hands it to him. Ethan holds the gun awkwardly, suddenly nervous for some reason. He’s never shot a gun before. 

“I’ve never shot a gun before.” He voices his thoughts. Mark smiles fondly and takes the gun, then steps in close to him, placing it in his hands where he’s meant to hold it. 

“Make sure it sits here, or you could dislocate your shoulder. It has a bit of a kick, so brace your legs.” Mark stands behind him, voice right in his ear. 

Ethan shakes a bit, standing stock still, holding his breath. Mark’s really close, one hand on his shoulder, the other touching at his hand, adjusting where he’s holding the barrel. 

“Relax, breathe,” Mark murmurs, hand leaving his hand onto to come to rest on his waist. 

Ethan exhales shakily, finger slipping onto the trigger. 

“W-what if I miss?” He asks in a near whisper, not sure if he’s aiming correctly. 

“You see the dip in the eyesight? Place the bottle right in there. Take a deep breath and shoot. Relax your shoulders, you’re too tense.” 

Ethan complies. Mark steps away, and finally the boy feels like he can breathe. He takes a breath, aiming the gun as he’s told, then squeezes the trigger. 

The bottle shattering is nearly exciting enough to distract him from the pain of the kickback. He jumps in excitement as Mark cheers, stepping over to a rock behind him to sit and watch. 

Ethan shoots a few more. They replace the bottles, then he used Bernard’s pistol, learning to shoot that as well. Mark is a great teacher, patient and not expecting him to know everything. When the last bottle is gone, he takes the gun and they share a high five. Ethan feels exhilarated, accomplished. He only missed twice! 

“It’s going to get dark soon, let’s head back.” 

So they do. They ride away from the cliff. Ethan holds onto the man’s coat and smiles, watching the trees pass by as they ride on. He isn’t familiar with the area, of course, but he notices when they decidedly _don’t_ turn at the large oak that marks the way towards camp. 

“Mark—“

“Act natural. Don’t look behind us, we’re being followed.” Mark replies casually in a murmur, continuing to ride along through the trees. 

Ethan stiffens, hands tightening around Mark’s waist. He wants to look behind, but refuses, watching ahead over Mark’s shoulder instead. 

“What do we do?” Ethan asks quietly. Mark holds the reigns with one hand, then subtly takes Ethan’s hand with his other, leading it to the man’s own belt, where his silver pistol sits holstered. 

“When we round this corner, we’re going to jump off and take cover behind anything you can see. A tree or a rock. Pull the gun out now. You won’t need to use it, but just in case. Stay in cover unless you hear shots, okay?” Mark says. Ethan unclips the gun and takes it from the holster, holding it there, heart pounding. He hears it now, the distant sound of stranger horse’s hooves in the dirt behind them. 

They round the corner and Ethan slides off of the horse, rushing through the tall grass and behind a wide tree, clutching the pistol in his sweaty hands, trying to breathe normally as he hears the stranger’s horses arrive on the scene. 

“Why are you following me?!” Mark asks loudly, presumably pointed his gun at the men. Ethan wants to peek around and see how many there are, but refuses to disobey Mark’s orders. He’s the expert on this sort of thing, and Ethan doesn’t want to be the reason they both die. 

“We want the boy. There’s more of us scouting the area, give him up now and nobody dies.” 

“Why do you want him?” Mark asks, sounding angry. Ethan chews on his lip nervously. Why indeed?

“We got wind that Hershel’s gang intercepted Peter’s Nestor robbery. We know the Nestor boy has the riches, or at least the location of the riches.” 

The letter in Ethan’s pocket suddenly feels heavier. He closes his eyes in defeat, suddenly regretting not telling Mark earlier who he really is. He wonders how mad the man will be. If he will treat him differently. Maybe even kill him. 

“Andrew Nestor died in the robbery that day.” Mark says. The men laugh. 

“He doesn’t know.” The other man says. 

“Mark Nestor had another son. Ethan. Younger thing. Kept him hidden away, off paper. One of our men died back in Saint Denis for this information. We won’t be leaving without him.” 

It’s quiet for a few moments. Ethan listens desperately but can’t hear any movement. 

“Neither will I.” Mark eventually says. The gunshots are loud, startling. Ethan knows he should peek, help out. He doesn’t know who shot first. If Mark is dead and now Ethan will be taken in by these men and used for the money his father left him. He stands against the tree, frozen in fear. He doesn’t know how many shots go off, but then it’s silent. He should peek around, right? Or should he? 

“Ethan.” Mark says, sounding breathless. Ethan peeks around. The man is replacing his rifle in Chica’s saddle. The two men lie dead on the ground, their horses scurrying off. Ethan steps on his wobbly legs back over. 

“I-I was going to tell you—“ 

“It’s too late now. Those men were a part of the James gang. If they know then everyone knows. We need to move camp now before we’re all killed.” Mark frowns and lifts him up onto the horse, climbing on quickly after him. 

“Hyah!” He cries, and Chica takes off the way they came, racing back towards camp quickly. Ethan just holds on for dear life, peeking behind them every few seconds as if other gang members are hiding behind every corner, ready to intervene. 

“We have to move camp, now!” Mark yells before he’s fully dismounted. The gang all jump into action before even questioning it, beginning to pack up everything. 

“Who?” Hershel asks, standing up from a log around the campfire. 

“James’ men. Followed us. Led them away but his gang is scouting.” 

“If James knows then everyone knows. Shit. What did they want?” 

Ethan wrings his fingers together, stomach turning. Everyone will hate him, he knows. He’s the reason they’re having to move camp. He’s the reason they’re being chased now. Sure, they’re wanted people already, but he can’t help but feel like a burden. 

“They know we have the safe.” Mark says, causing Ethan to look at him in surprise. The man doesn’t look at him. The gang continues working on packing up, so Mark leads him over to their tent, peeking out of the flap once they’re in to make sure nobody’s close. 

“You’re Nestor’s son?” He asks in a hushed whisper, pulling a trunk out from under his cot and throwing his belongings in, packing quickly. 

“I-I’m sorry, I was going to tell you. I just didn’t want you to, like, keep me around just for the code to the safe.” 

Mark halts all of his movements, whirling on his heel to look at him. 

“You know the code to your father’s safe?”

“I mean, I can guess. I assume it’s my parent’s anniversary, or maybe my mother’s birthday.” Ethan rolls up his bedroll, handing it to Mark who sticks it into the trunk. 

“Are you angry? I didn’t know people were looking for me, I swear.” Ethan pulls his coat sleeve over his fingers, bouncing on his toes anxiously. He can hear the clatter of everything being moved outside. Mark sighs, closing the lid on the packed trunk and clasping it shut. 

“I’m not mad, just stressed. Look, let’s keep this between us, okay? I trust these people but they are furiously loyal. I wouldn’t put it past them to give you in to ensure our safety.” Mark leans in, muttering quietly, eyes on the flap entrance. Ethan nods, feeling a bit like shit. 

“Mark! Come help with the safe!” Someone calls from outside. They leave the tent. Ethan helps around where he can, folding up tent covers or packing fruit into boxes. Mostly, he just tries to breathe, not looking into anyone’s eyes so he doesn’t feel so guilty. 

-

“Ethan, don’t fall asleep.” Mark says. Ethan opens his eyes, temple pressed to Mark’s back. It’s rather cold. Of course, it is nearing November and they seem to be going even further north. They have slowed down, though, not pushing the horses to go as quickly as they were when they’d left. 

“Not sleeping.” He replies, lifting his head from Mark’s back to look around. The trees are thinner here. Less leaves. The moon shines bright above them. It must be getting close to midnight now. They’ve been riding for what feels like years, but must’ve been only a few hours. 

It’s quiet. Ethan kind of misses the sound of the cicadas back in Saint Denis. The hooves cracking on the brick road in front of the house even late into the night, the city never seeming to sleep. He loved it. Out here, there’s nothing, but he somehow feels like they’re always being watched. Like they’ll all go down to a bear or something. Mark hasn’t said much of anything since they left, just riding on, eyes on the road ahead. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you..who I was, or am.” Ethan mumbles. There’s a wagon in front and behind them, but the sound of their wheels and the horses is plenty to mask his voice. 

“It’s alright. We’re a gang of outlaws, I wouldn’t have told me either.” Mark pats at Ethan’s hands around his waist. The boy smiles, squeezing him like a hug. He’s noticed one thing on these rides, with his arms around him. Mark’s pretty nicely built. Muscular. The stories the gang have told him make a lot of sense, but Ethan still can’t help but enjoy it. Riding with his arms around—

He shakes his head of those thoughts, hoping his mother can’t hear his mind from heaven or wherever she is now. He can’t help but wonder why it is that men are hanged for homosexuality. Sure, they can’t produce children, but shouldn’t that mean the old lady who lives next door who refused to marry and have children should be hanged? 

“Why is homosexuality wrong?” Ethan asks, holding his breath and preparing for Mark to honestly just kill him or something. The man is quiet for a beat, thinking this over. 

“Um, it’s illegal. The sodomy law says that any oral or anal sex be punishable by death.” 

“Why do you know about laws? Aren’t you all about breaking them?” Ethan lifts his head, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes, well, I enjoy reading sometimes. Bob brought me a law book once.” Mark shrugs a bit. Ethan didn’t even think he knew how to read, really. Mark doesn’t really talk about himself, though. 

“Okay..but that doesn’t explain why it’s wrong, though? Why is that a law anyway? I know it’s a sin, but shouldn’t laws not be religious?” 

“I..don’t know, Ethan. Why do you ask?” 

“My uncle was hanged for it when I was young. I can’t help but think I wouldn’t be alone if he wasn’t executed.” 

“You aren’t alone.” Mark says, touching his hand to Ethan’s. The boy smiles, lying his head back down. He gets a new feeling. A surge of content. Like he belongs here. Like he isn’t an outsider. 

“I know. I just mean I wouldn’t be the last Nestor.” He mumbles, closing his eyes once again. He doesn’t sleep, but he’s relaxed. The drama of the gang chasing from earlier lies far behind them. He’s safe as he can be right here. 

-

“Hey, I think you’ll want to see this.” Mark shakes him awake saying. Ethan sits up, blinking sleepily. He can see his breath in front of his face it’s so cold. 

“What’s going on? What time is it?” 

“It’s dawn. C’mere, outside, quick.” Mark has an excited tilt to his voice that Ethan’s never heard before. It’s only been two days in the new camp, and Ethan realises suddenly it’s his birthday. He stands up from his cold bedroll, sticking his feet in his boots and following Mark out of the tent. He blinks at how bright it is, before he realises why it’s bright. 

“Snow.” He whispers in surprise. There’s a few inches of it already, blanketing the camp and the trees, falling silently from the bright sky, the sun just barely starting to rise. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mark asks, grinning as he looks around. Nobody else is awake, so the snow is untouched. It’s so quiet, despite the flurries falling so quickly and so abundantly. 

“I’ve only seen it one other time. I was really young, though.” Ethan says breathlessly. He shivers, unable to feel his toes anymore. Mark bends over, cupping his hands in the white snow and making a ball, then he unexpectedly hurls it at Ethan. It lands square on his chest, exploding softly. It doesn’t hurt, but god it’s cold. The boy gasps in surprise, looking to see Mark is holding back a laugh, eyes all sparkly and shit. 

The war begins. They chase each other around the camp, throwing balls of snow and trying to hit each other in the face. 

Ethan, lifting up from a crouch with a ball in hand, giggles as Mark reaches over and hits the snow from his hands. They start to wrestle each other for more snow, falling to the ground in a lump, giggling like madmen. 

Ethan somehow ends up pinning him down by his arms, on top of him. Mark’s hat’s fallen off in the wrestle, his black hair fanning out over the bright snow under them. They’re really close together. The man looks surprised that he’s lost, but he doesn’t move to push Ethan off, eyes moving to the boy’s lips. 

“I...want my horse.” Ethan says, desperately distracting himself. Mark raises an eyebrow quizzedly, looking almost dazed. 

“Your horse? In Saint Denis?” 

“Yeah..and I want to go to my home. Get a few of my things I didn’t have time to grab before. It’d be nice to wear my own clothes.” He only wears his own coat, the rest are hand-me-downs provided by the others in the camp. Most of it is too big for him, but the women who are closer to his size only had feminine clothing. 

“Risky. You could be recognised there with Peter’s gang hanging around. We’d have to get disguises, and take a stagecoach. Can’t risk Chica being recognised.” 

“Okay, can we really?” 

Mark shrugs, smiling. He looks away, up at the snow that falls onto his face. He’s breathtaking. The snow lands on him and melts with the heat of his skin. Ethan finally stops pinning him down, hands on the man’s chest instead as he looks up as well. It’s just unbearably pretty. 

Mark suddenly sits up, shaking his head so the snow from his hair flies onto Ethan. The boy giggles, rolling off of him and lying down himself, getting the view Mark just was. He feels like he’s in a dream. It’s so cold that he feels warm, somehow. 

“Come on, let’s go back to bed before we get sick.” Mark says, but neither of them move, staring up at the sky. 

Eventually, they finally go. Mark stands and helps him up. They walk back to the tent, only to find the snow has snuck into the tent, soaking the whole bottom quarter of Ethan’s bedroll. 

“We can share. Just a few hours before we need to wake up, anyway.” Mark shrugs, peeling off his snow covered coat and setting it on the table next to the warm lantern, before working on his boots. Ethan follows along hesitantly, hating to leave the letter clad coat on its own, but the table is within arms length of Mark’s bed, so it should be fine. 

Mark climbs in first, lying on his side so there’s room. Ethan follows. It’s not the biggest cot of all time, so they’re touching head to toe once they’re settled, Ethan’s back to Mark’s chest. 

He tries to breathe evenly. Mark seems relaxed, as if this is normal and totally fine. Maybe it is. Maybe Ethan’s just overthinking everything. 

Or maybe Mark lies his arm over him under the blanket casually. 

“Sorry, nowhere else to put it.” The man mumbles, sounding sleepy. Ethan relaxes a bit. If Mark is fine then there’s nothing to worry about, right? 

He closes his eyes, tense muscles finally relaxing. Truthfully, he’s warmer than he ever was sleeping on his bedroll. They’d planned on getting him his own cot but that was before the move. 

He falls asleep, lulled by Mark’s constant breathing in his ear. 

-

“I feel silly.” Ethan pouts, playing with the sleeve of the dress he borrowed from one of the women in camp. His father’s letter sits in his boots, hidden under the hem of the dress. The feminine hat is especially annoying, too big on his head. 

“Well, it’s necessary. We look like the people of Saint Denis and nobody bats an eye.” Mark says, straightening the funny top hat on his head. He’s wearing a full suit that Hershel had for god knows why. 

“But why do I have to be a woman?” Ethan frowns. Kathryn pulls away from his face, giving him a stern look. The boy sighs and purses his lips once more so she can finish the lipstick. His eyes feel sticky as well. Wearing makeup was not something he thought he would do in his lifetime. 

“Because a couple is far less suspicious than two suited men outside the Nestor home. Besides, we couldn’t just put a moustache on you or something. A moustache on an 18 year old would just look unnatural.”

“19, actually.” Ethan says, sighing in relief when Kat finishes the makeup. She lifts up a small hand mirror to show her masterpiece. Ethan giggles at his reflection. He’s always been smaller, not so built up like most men, with a thinner face, but he’s still surprised to find he actually looks like a woman. 

“You said you were 18?” Mark says, pulling at his collar where his tie is tightened, clearly not used to a suit. 

“My birthday was last week. That day it first snowed.” 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” 

“I didn’t think it mattered?” Ethan raises an eyebrow. Mark looks genuinely upset. The man looks to Kathryn, who also looks off-put by this information. 

“I would’ve gotten you something.” Mark says dejectedly. Ethan laughs a bit, looking around at the camp surrounding them. Nobody else is awake. It’s barely even dawn yet. They needed time for the long journey there. Mark says they will probably end up staying in an inn. Ethan never has, so he’s a bit excited for that possibility. 

“You’ve given me shelter, food, and safety. I already feel like I’ve given nothing in return.” 

Mark opens his mouth to protest this statement, eyebrows furrowed, but Kathryn stands, clapping her hands. 

“Well, we better head off if you plan to make it there by afternoon.” 

They agree, standing from the table and making their way over to the waiting wagon. Kathryn drives them to strawberry, a silent little town as everyone still sleeps. The stagecoach is nearly asleep himself, waiting at his post with a dazed expression. 

“Alright, I’ll have Chica waiting here by nightfall tomorrow. If you don’t return by morning the next day I’m picking her up and assuming you’ve been killed.” Kathryn says as they climb into the stagecoach. 

“We know. Thanks, Kat.” Mark says, kissing her cheek. 

“Madam,” The stagecoach gives Ethan a hand into the coach. The boy giggles, nearly forgetting the getup he’s in, “you folks settle in. It’s a long ride to Saint Denis.” 

-

“We’re here.” Mark touches his arm to wake him. Ethan lifts his head from the man’s shoulder, reaching a hand up to rub at his eye, stopping last second as he remembers he’s in makeup. Peeking out of the coach, he finds they are indeed here, and they’re already on the street Ethan’s house sits on. He takes a breath, watching his neighbours houses pass by. They stop three houses down from his and climb from the coach. 

“Thank you, sir.” Mark says in a perfect accent, paying the stagecoach, who bids them farewell before leaving. 

“Take my arm.” The man says once they’re alone, holding his elbow out like a proper gentleman. 

“Why are you so good at this?” Ethan asks, taking Mark’s elbow and walking alongside him down the street towards his house. It’s so close Ethan might cry. He wants to break out into a run, but many people pass by on horses or walking, the city busy as ever in the afternoon hours. 

“You’ve heard the gang stories. I’ve had to act as many different types of people in different situations. We stayed in this city for a week before intercepting Peter at your house. Really learned the ways of a city man.” Mark walks with his chin high. Dressed this way, Ethan could easily mistake him for a wealthy businessman. The boy giggles as they walk, feeling like anyone who looks at him could know he’s not a female, but men tip their hats as they pass, greeting them as if they’re anyone who’s anyone. 

“The front door is locked.” Mark says, looking up at the house. 

They head around back, through the same door Ethan had snuck into that day. The house stands still. There are still dirty dishes waiting to be cleaned in the washroom. In the sitting room, the window is haphazardly boarded up by lawmen or maybe the bank. 

With a deep breath, Ethan leads them upstairs. He knows his family died upstairs, though he is unsure of which room. First, he peeks into Andrew’s. It’s exactly how it was left that day. His parents room is the same. Clean as always. Not a misplaced thing in sight. 

His father’s office is picked clean, it seems. He doesn’t know if it was done by his father or someone else, but his drawer is halfway open, papers thrown on the desk as if someone was tossing them away while looking for something else. 

That only leaves...

Ethan’s door is shut. Holding his breath, he opens the heavy thing. Immediately, he sees it. The blood has clearly been wiped up, but the expensive hardwood flooring stains easily. He knows this well after getting scolded by mother when he accidentally spilled her wine on the dining floor when he was a child. A rug covers the wine stain that still remains to this day. 

The blood stain is large, spread over the centre of his room. Enough blood that Ethan knows they all died here, standing or perhaps sitting in his room. Why his room? Why were they in here of all places? Like they were waiting for their inevitable death. Father knew, obviously, but did mother? Andrew? 

Was that why his brother didn’t greet him that morning, nose deep in his paper? Would Ethan have seen it on his face? Did his big brother know he was going to die that day? Know there was a plan in place to ensure Ethan survives? 

He suddenly remembers something from their childhood. Playing hide and seek. Ethan, maybe four or five, had hidden in his toy trunk and had fallen asleep waiting to be found. He’d woken up hours later to find his mother talking to an officer, Andrew crying behind her while holding a photo of Ethan to his chest. Upon discovering his baby brother had only fallen asleep, Andrew had hugged him tightly, tears streaking down his face, and begged him not to scare him this way ever again. Ethan had spent the night in his brothers room that night, and they fell asleep in the middle of playing, toy horses still in their hands. 

The boy doesn’t realise he’s sunk to his knees until Mark is there, crouching down with him, hands on his shoulders 

“I’m so sorry, Ethan.” 

Ethan can barely hear him. He stares at the stain, unable to see anything else. His family’s blood. He can’t breathe. He remembers the first time he had an attack like this. Mother had slipped up in the kitchen, slicing her finger a bit. It wasn’t the biggest cut of all time, but she bled like mad. Ethan, 13, couldn’t find the bandages anywhere, throwing open cabinets and drawers all over the room, in a near sob every time he’d glanced back to see his mother’s blood dripping all over on the table. 

“Ethan, love, I’m okay. Come here and breathe with me.” She’d said, squeezing her bleeding finger in her dress as she held the boy. He was still a mess when Bernard finally arrived with a doctor to stitch her up. 

Then, his view is blocked. Mark lifts him up effortlessly and removes him from the room. Ethan fights back, unsure why. As if his family is in that room. 

“Ethan, stop! Stop it!” Mark shouts, shaking him a bit. Ethan stills, eyes wide as he finally comes back to reality. Mark looks fearful for some reason. The boy realises he is gasping, hyperventilating, unable to take a proper breath. 

Then he’s being hugged. Mark squeezes him so tightly it almost hurts. He’s warm and strong. Ethan holds him right back, face hidden in his neck. 

After a long time, maybe twenty minutes, Ethan’s breathing is fully back to normal. He doesn’t want to move, though. Not when Mark’s hug feels so nice. So natural. 

“I’m sorry. I should have looked first.”

“I just..I almost forgot. They’re all gone. How could I forget? My own family.” 

Mark pulls away just enough to meet his eyes. His eyebrows are furrowed, expression fierce. 

“No, don’t feel guilty, okay? You didn’t really forget. You’ll never, ever fully forget. You only move along. Go new places and meet new people. You have to let yourself enjoy the days when you can forget. When you can feel joy. There will be days when you can’t even speak. Someone will speak to you and you’ll realise you’ve been staring at the same pile of wood for four hours. On those bad days, you will have to remember the good ones, okay? I didn’t know your family but I’m willing to bet they wanted you to be happy.” 

Ethan nods, feeling like he could cry. It would ruin his makeup, he realises. He almost wants to laugh at the stupid thought. Not wanting to cry over his dead family so he doesn’t ruin his eyeliner. 

Mark’s like a guiding light in a dark tunnel. So sincere. Sincere in a way that only someone who’s lost his family in the same way can be. It’s comforting in a way, to know Ethan isn’t alone. That he doesn’t have to be embarrassed at his actions. He can only hope Mark had someone like that when he was going through this. 

“I can’t go back in there.” He murmurs. Mark nods and has him stay, stepping back into Ethan’s childhood bedroom. 

He’s only in for a few minutes before he returns. He doesn’t bear clothing. Photos. The blanket Ethan was swaddled in the day he was born. 

Instead, he holds two golden bands, one with a diamond protruding from the band. 

“My parents wedding rings?” Ethan takes them from him, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Yes. The law normally empties the pockets and the rings from bodies before taking them for burial. Just in case any kin end up wanting something.” 

Ethan slips the rings onto his fingers, smiling down at the bands. He’d done this once before with his mother’s ring. Sitting on her lap while she was knitting, he’d asked to try it on. 

“One day you will present this ring to the woman you love and she will wear it just as I have and as my mother had.” She’d said when little Ethan had barely fit it onto his thumb, still too big for him even on his biggest finger. 

He wonders if she’d known even then that Ethan was to be the only remainder of their family. She should have told that to Andrew instead, right? The eldest gets the rings. Why didn’t he notice this before? Notice the little things they would say sometimes. Perhaps he would have seen this coming. 

Now, her ring is too small. Ethan has nimble fingers, but she was a rather petite woman. Her ring could fit his pinky, probably. 

His father’s, on the other hand, while slightly too big, is a better fit. He only wishes he were closer to father. Heregrets being too nervous to talk to the man. He was a mommy’s boy, and his father was nearly always working, but he still wishes he had gotten to know him. Even just enough to have fond memories of their times together. He really only has very few. 

Andrew had taught him to shave. His mother taught him how to treat women. Bernard taught him to read and write. 

His father, well, his father murdered a man’s family and ensured the man went to jail for it. No amount of money hidden in a tree trunk will change that fact. 

“Thank you.” Ethan says, smiling at Mark, who copies his smile in relief. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah..I think I am.” Ethan places the rings into Mark’s satchel and turns away from his family home, no intention to ever return again. 

-

“Alright. The stables are just a few blocks into town. We walk calmly, like we belong, okay?” Mark murmurs as they approach the busier part of town. It’s the area of town where his father never let him go. Beggars and prostitutes sit everywhere. People selling cheap shit for too much of a price. The stables are indeed on the other side of the commotion, though, so they walk along, peering at all of the people. 

Turning a corner, the crowd thins out a bit, the booths and alleyways go off in a million directions. They walk arm and arm towards their destination. Nobody looks at them twice. They’re just a regular Saint Denis couple, after all. 

Turning another corner, Ethan spots a group of men approaching. He gasps and turns, pressing Mark into an alleyway without much thought. The man stumbles in surprise. 

“Wha—“

“It’s Peter! He’s coming this way. What do we do? Do we run? He’d recognise you for sure!” Ethan whispers quickly. Mark looks around them like he’s searching for an escape route. They can both hear Peter’s loud ass chattering getting closer. 

“Shit.” Mark mutters, then he crowds Ethan up against the wall, covers his cheek with a hand, and kisses him. 

Ethan makes a noise of surprise, hands reaching out to maybe push him away but he melts instead, mouth opening to allow Mark to deepen the kiss. His heart slams in his chest loudly. His head fuzzes. He can hear Peter walk by and away. If anyone glances down the alleyway, they just look like a couple sharing a private kiss. 

Though Peter is gone, the kiss doesn’t let up. Mark presses in impossibly closer, hands resting on Ethan’s corset. 

The boy can’t describe the feeling. It’s something he’s never felt before. Not even when he kissed the neighbour girl down the street when he was younger. This..this just feels like everything he never let himself want. It’s illegal, he knows, but he still doesn’t understand why. 

How can it be wrong when it feels so right?

Mark abruptly pulls away, eyes wide, lips reddened by Ethan’s lipstick. They both catch their breath, looking at each other in maybe surprise. 

Mark looks over back towards the street, where Peter is long gone. He wipes the remnants of lipstick from his face and pulls completely away, clearing his throat and holding his arm out for Ethan to take as if nothing even happened. 

The boy steps away from the alley wall, straightening his hat, and takes Mark’s arm, mind racing as they continue on. 

Neither of them speak a word as they walk. Eventually, they make it to the stables. Spencer isn’t there. He’s probably been sold by now after this long. They leave the stables and head towards the inn. 

Before they reach it though, Mark takes a turn into a shop. 

“Looking for something. Have a look around for a bit.” The man says, then disappears into the aisles. They seem to be in some sort of trinket store. Many random items and trinkets decorate the shelves. Lots of cigarette cards. Plenty of clothing. Toys for children. Decorated weapons. 

In the far back corner, Ethan finds wood carvings of all kinds. He picks up a painted carving of a cardinal, fingers brushing over the smooth wood. 

“You like that?” Mark asks, seemingly appearing out of thin air. Ethan jumps in surprise, then giggles. 

“Yeah. Always loved cardinals growing up. One landed on my window sill once. Looked right at me.” Ethan remembers. 

“You can have it, if you want.” Mark replies. The boy looks at his empty hands with a raised eyebrow. 

“Aren’t you looking for something? I don’t have any money, anyway.” Ethan reaches up to replace the bird on the shelf, but Mark stops him with a smile. 

“I wasn’t. Just wanted you to look on your own. I told you I would’ve gotten you something. A late birthday present.” 

“I have nothing in return—“

“I don’t want anything, stop. Seeing you happy is plenty enough. Come on.” He takes the carving from Ethan and navigates to the seller. Ethan lingers behind, pleased smile playing at his lips. He can’t help but feel like this is all real. The posh couple act. It just feels nice. Lovely, really. Mark’s quite the gentleman. 

“Ah, quite the antique. Painted by a great Indian chief 30 years ago. That will be 200.” 

Ethan, wide eyed, opens his mouth to ask Mark not to pay a small fortune for a fucking wood carving, but remembers he can’t speak and give away the fact he’s definitely not a woman. He can only watch in horror as Mark casually pays for the carving. 

“Please, that’s too much—“ Ethan starts as soon as they’re out of the shop. 

“None of that.” Mark says sternly, handing him the carving. The boy pouts, holding it safely in his arm, feeling bad that Mark’s spending money on him, but feeling a little more bad about enjoying this act they’re doing so much. The act. The kiss. 

A little too much enjoyment on the kiss, really. Then again, Mark didn’t pull away as soon as he could. He _did_ linger. 

Ethan’s still pondering it when they step into the inn. 

“Two baths and a room, please.” 

“Ah, we have one couple bed still vacant, you came in right on time! Your baths will be ready in ten.” The man hands them a key to the room. 

Right, a couple’s room. Here they go sharing a bed again. 

Once they make it upstairs into their room, Mark immediately pulls off his tie, sighing like he could hardly breathe with it on. 

He removes his top hat as well, setting it on the small table in the room. 

Ethan kicks off his boots and sits on the edge of the nice bed. It’s his first time sitting on a real bed since he left his home. Mark’s cot and Ethan’s bedroll aren’t exactly the most comfortable places to sleep. 

“What’s that?”

Ethan looks up, and follows Mark’s eyes to his father’s letter, fallen out of his boot when he took it off. He slides off of the bed and picks up the letter, holding it to his chest. He can’t believe he’d forgotten about it with the excitement of the day. 

Mark looks at the letter in his hands, curiosity obviously piqued. 

“You remember how those men said I must know where my father’s money is?” 

“It’s in the safe.”

“Not all of it. He left some for me. He knew he was going to die. He hid it and gave me this letter the day he was killed. It tells me where to find it. I assume it remains.” 

Mark leans against the table heavily with this new information. 

“O’Creagh’s Run. You asked if I knew where it was your second day with us.” Mark seems to have a fair memory. Ethan replaces the letter in his boot and chews on his lip. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you...you’re a thief, after all.” Ethan sighs, biting back a smile. Mark laughs, stepping towards him like he’s going to tickle him, before a knock sounds at the door. 

“Your baths are ready!” 

-

Ethan nearly forgot how nice it felt to get clean. The shitty campfire-heated baths back at camp can’t compare to an actual bath. He sits in the water until his fingers are prunes, cleaning every inch of himself carefully, sure to avoid his eyes as to not ruin the makeup Kathryn carefully gave him. They brought the lipstick pen, but if his eyes are screwed then he definitely is. 

Once bathed, he doesn’t put on the other dress he packed for tomorrow. Instead, he stays in just comfortable pants and his cloth undershirt and sneaks back into the room before anyone can spot his decidedly flat chest. 

Mark’s already back, poking a stake around in the fireplace, the room nice and warm from the heat. 

“Wish we had this back at camp.” Ethan sighs, setting both dresses on the floor and climbing into the bed, crawling under the duvet. It’s not even the nicest inn in town, but it’s so much better than the cold tent he’s used to. 

“I’m sorry I can’t give you this kind of comfort all the time.” Mark murmurs, switching off the light so just the flickering of the flame lights up the room. He climbs into bed next to him, pulling off his shirt before he does. Ethan turns to face him, pouting a bit. He tries desperately not to let his eyes wander to Mark’s bare chest. 

“You’ve given me plenty.” He replies. Mark just frowns, matching his position. It’s really cozy in here. 

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier, with the whole kiss and all. Couldn’t think of anything else in the moment.” Mark looks away, down at the pattern of the blanket. 

“It’s okay. Worked perfectly, I doubt any of them looked twice.” 

“I’m still sorry. I just want to make sure you know I’m not like that. I don’t think of you that way.”

“I wouldn’t be mad if you did.” Ethan blurts, cheeks reddening. Mark looks back to him, eyebrows furrowing. He’s quiet for a minute, mulling this over. 

“Wouldn’t you?” He eventually asks. 

“Wouldn’t _you_ ?” 

Mark’s jaw clenches, then he moves, lifting onto his elbow and depleting the space between them, leaning over him and pressing their lips together once more. 

Ethan doesn’t resist anymore. His hands feel Mark’s toned chest, pulling him closer and closer. 

“What if someone sees?” Ethan asks, parting their lips. Mark looks dazed, eyes dilated, hair falling into his face. 

“Doubt President McKinley’s peeking through the window.” Mark huffs. Ethan’s giggling when they kiss again, though he quiets down as the mood changes. Suddenly, he’s desperate. For anything. He doesn’t know how this works, really, but he wants it. Wants Mark. God, he wants Mark. 

His mother’s voice in the back of his head is muffled, nearly nonexistent as Mark kisses him sweetly, the man’s hands caressing down Ethan’s leg, hiking it up so he can fit between his two. His hands seem to be made of electricity, making Ethan’s heart skip every time he touches a new area of him. 

It’s been about 30 seconds. 

“Fuck, this is a bad idea, isn’t it?” Mark says, pulling away. He clutches the pillow roughly next to Ethan’s head, eyes closing as he takes a breath. 

“Probably.” Ethan replies, then reaches up to touch his face. It’s surprisingly soft, unblemished. There’s a scar on his cheek like he was punched by a ringed person at some point. This close, he can see all of the scars. A few littering his arms. What looks like a bullet scar on his shoulder. He’s beautiful. 

“You’re barely 19.” Mark says, almost sounding like he’s telling himself. Ethan lifts his head to kiss him. The man makes a noise and kisses back feverishly. Ethan allows his hands to wander. He’s never felt another male before. Not like this. Mark’s hard when the boy cups him over his pants. 

Pulling away, Mark exhales shakily and searches his eyes. 

“We can’t..go too far. There’s no, um, lotion or anything.” 

Ethan smiles, cheeks pink. He’s nervous with Mark just looking at him while he’s holding the guy’s dick. There’s hardly any layers between, they might as well be naked. He feels an adrenaline rush, as if he’s doing something bad. Something his mother warned him to never do his entire childhood. Something his father would roll over in his grave if he knew about. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing anyway.” Ethan shrugs as if he’s casual. As if he isn’t freaking out a bit. As if he isn’t nearly squirming with the want to take his clothes off. 

Mark leans in and presses his lips to Ethan’s neck, kissing there. The boy bares his neck, giving him room. Would give him anything right about now, honestly. 

The outlaw pulls away and reaches down to Ethan’s waistband, peeling off his pants slowly as if he’s savouring the time. The boy can only watch as he’s exposed. He nearly has to look away when Mark’s eyes meet his once more. He seems almost hungry. 

“Fuck, I wish I wasn’t wearing makeup right now.” Ethan babbles stupidly. Mark chuckles, kissing his lips, then his nose, then his forehead. 

“It’s beautiful. Makes your eyes bluer.” 

Ethan blinks rapidly like a schoolgirl, mostly joking. Kathryn had done mostly eyeliner, he remembers. Some sort of paint on his lids, probably, and something on his eyelashes as well, but he mostly remembers the eyeliner as it made his eyes water. 

“Am I pretty?” He teases, expecting Mark to laugh, roll his eyes maybe. 

“So pretty.” The man replies instead, then he presses two fingers to Ethan’s mouth. The boy opens up, confused but complying anyway. He sucks on Mark’s fingers while the man watches with dark dark eyes. He’s leaking against Ethan’s leg. 

Once Mark’s fingers are wet, he pulls them away then they disappear between them. Ethan doesn’t know what he’s going to do until he feels them press against him somewhere he didn’t expect. Thinking again, he should’ve expected it, but he still grips Mark’s arm in surprise, immediately nervous. 

“Do you trust me?” 

“Yes.”

“Relax. I won’t hurt you.” 

Ethan takes a few deep breaths, then Mark’s pressing his fingers inside. As he said, it doesn’t hurt, but it definitely feels weird. 

“Why—“

“Patience, baby.” Mark orders. Ethan bites his lip at the pet name, trying not to make a noise. 

He doesn’t understand why Mark is moving his fingers around so much, like he’s searching, until he curls his fingers a certain way and the following moan tumbles out of Ethan’s lips before he can stop it, pleasure zipping up his spine in a way it never did when he was just touching himself growing up. 

“There you are.” Mark mumbles, then he stabs that spot inside of Ethan over and over and over and—

“F-fuck, Mark, I can’t, please—“

“Go ahead.” 

So Ethan does, back arching as he sees stars, gasping for a breath that won’t come. 

He expects to come down from the high naturally, but Mark doesn’t allow him to, continuing to press that spot in him, massaging him. Ethan shakes as he’s overstimulated, weakly grabbing at Mark’s arm to stop him but the words don’t come. He can only watch as his legs tremble. The man leans down and bites at his neck. The pain is an added touch. 

Ethan comes a second time, barely a few drops, though it’s somehow stronger. He hardly makes a sound, fingernails digging into Mark’s shoulder, toes curling. 

Thankfully, he finally pulls his fingers from the boy, wrapping them around his own dick instead, eyes on Ethan as the boy catches his breath, too dazed to even attempt to help. 

He barely sees Mark himself come, barely notices as the man cleans him up. The white spots in his vision only go away minutes later, long after their cleaned up and he’s being coddled to Mark’s chest. 

“I’ve never..twice.” Ethan whispers, nose to Mark’s collarbone, still a bit shaky but so comfortable, pleased. 

“So beautiful.” Mark murmurs, hand stroking his hair, heartbeat steady as a tune. 

Ethan falls asleep within minutes. 

-

He wakes up alone. 

Sitting up, he searches for a note hopefully. Any remnants of the outlaw. Any evidence he didn’t in fact get cold feet and piss off. Ethan realises he actually has no clue where camp is, or how to return there. What will he do? He can’t exactly go around asking if anyone knows where O’Creagh’s Run is without raising suspicion, can he? 

The door opens and in walks Mark holding a paper bag. Ethan sighs in relief. 

“You alright? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Mark sets the paper bag on the bedside table and sits on the edge of the bed, taking his hand. Thankfully. 

“I thought you’d run off.” Ethan says, feeling a bit silly now. Mark smiles fondly and lifts Ethan’s hand to press a kiss there like a proper gentleman. 

“Got us breakfast, actually. One thing about being in the city is no deer stew. Found a little Chinese district a few streets away. So many foods I never even thought of. Here.” He reaches into the paper bag and reveals some sort of noodle dish. 

They eat right there on the bed together, sharing the bowl of noodles as Mark tells him about the man who sold him the dish, about the stories he’d heard of China. Ethan was never taught much about China, but it sounds incredible. He can only watch in awe as Mark’s eyes light up while he talks, gesticulating excitedly. 

He takes Ethan’s breath away, truly. 

“So you like the city?” 

Setting the empty bowl away, Mark plays with Ethan’s hand, running the pads of his fingers over the lines on his palm. 

“Yes. Never had a chance to just see it, you know? Every other time I’ve been here it’s all business, sneaking around, running from the law. This acting as a couple, well, it’s kind of more fun than any of that is.” 

It’s all Ethan’s wanted for weeks, for Mark to just openly express his feelings. He’s been so reserved this whole time, not speaking of himself nor his past. Laughing and changing the subject when asked. 

Now, there’s a sparkle to his eyes that wasn’t there before. The casual way he touches Ethan’s hand, like it just comes naturally to him. As if they are in a proper relationship. He seems younger all of a sudden, perhaps because of the way he’s almost glowing. 

Ethan’s never been so infatuated with a person so quickly and so unexpectedly in his life. He has no control over it. Like magnets, he cannot pull away and decide differently. He’s just thrusted in and now he’s feeling more than he can put to words. More than he can properly comprehend. He can only hope Mark feels even slightly what he is feeling. 

“So why don’t we stay? Sell my family’s things and use the money to live here? I can get papers, pretend I am a woman—“

“Ethan, woah, okay,” Mark laughs, “calm down. I can’t abandon the gang like that. They’re _my_ family. Have been since I was young.” 

Ethan pouts and climbs onto him, straddling his lap, giving him his best sad eyes. The ones he always used so Bernard would give him sweets after dinner. 

“Can you imagine it, though? No running. Eating a different meal every night. Going to the theatre. The saloon. Sleeping in a real bed...with me.” 

Mark gulps audibly, hand sneaking up his back under his shirt as he leans forward for a kiss. 

Ethan could easily go again. A hundred times over. Wants to, in fact. Wants to make them late to leave. Late to riding back to camp. Late enough that they miss meeting Chica back in strawberry. Late so then they have to send a letter so she’ll be posted up again. That would give them days here. Whole days in the city. They could do everything. Be anyone they wanted. 

Alas, Mark pulls away instead of taking it further. 

“That sounds wonderful, baby, but I won’t betray them like that.” 

Ethan pouts, fiddling with the lapels of Mark’s coat, feeling a bit childish but more annoyed at the fact they’ll be back in the snowy cold ass camp by nightfall. 

“Hey..I promise, one day I’ll get us a house, alright? A nice warm house close enough to a town that we could do those things, but not this town. You have to realise this isn’t..well, this isn’t legal, what we’re doing. One witness and we’re done for and Saint Denis is the most law enforced city I’ve come across. I won’t risk your life so we can get Chinese food.” 

“You want to have a home with me?” Ethan asks in a small voice, stomach fluttering. 

“Yeah. Not the first time I’ve thought about it, I’ll admit. Been feeling this way for weeks now.” 

“I’ve only _been_ with your gang for weeks.” Ethan says with a raised eyebrow. 

“No need to take the piss.” Mark grumbles, ears surprisingly pinking. Ethan giggles, unbearably happy that his feelings are in fact mutual. He could almost jump with joy. 

Probably too many minutes spent kissing later, they carefully replenish Ethan’s lipstick then make their way out of the inn and back towards the Stagecoach’s post. 

They walk slower than they were the day before, both dreading having to leave, not speaking but simply enjoying the bustle of the city. 

Ethan wants to stay, but he wants Mark even more than that. Wants Mark enough to freeze every night in his tent. Enough to eat deer stew every single day and run with his gang of outlaws and shitty makeshift baths. 

“Oh my god.” He halts in his tracks. He’d recognise him anywhere. He’s known him since he was born right in their stables, spent hours brushing him before they’d hooked him up to the wagons for a trip to grandmas. Ethan begged to ride him for years, but his parents were insistent on him focusing on studying instead. Telling him he didn’t need to learn to ride his own horse. He thinks now that perhaps they didn’t want him to get too close to the animal when they predicted they wouldn’t be together in the end. 

“It’s Spencer. That man just got off of him, over there next to the fruit, in the blue hat.” 

Mark pulls them from the traffic of people to a more secluded spot so they can see. 

“Okay, we follow him far enough away that nobody would hear a gunshot—“

“No! God, let’s not kill the man. Here, give me a chance, I have a plan.” Ethan murmurs quietly. Mark tilts his hand with a grin, intrigued. 

“Please, do tell.”

-

Ethan sits in the grass, dress fanned out around him, watching a toad hop nearby boredly.

Finally, he hears the hooves hitting the dirt close in. He grips his ankle and gets his tears going once more, moaning at a higher pitch to sound more feminine. 

“Oh, thank you for taking me, sir. Our horse just up and died and my wife, poor thing, twisted her ankle. There she is. E—uh—Elise, you alright?” 

Ethan just cries, holding his ankle as if he’s in pain. The man riding Spencer hops off as soon as he’s close enough, rushing over to help. 

“Oh my, here let’s get you to a doctor.” The man steps in to help Ethan up. Mark, just as planned, comes in behind and hits him in the back of his head with his gun, knocking him out before he can get any closer. 

Ethan stands up and wipes his makeup stained tear tracks, approaching Spencer and petting him. The horse huffs in joy, black eyes right on him. 

“The tears were a pleasant surprise. You’re good at this too.” Mark says once he returns from hiding the man in the tall grass. He swirls Ethan around and kisses him. The boy giggles, feeling light as a feather with the excitement of it all. 

“Always been able to do that. Got myself out of trouble on several occasions.” Ethan replies as they get onto the horse. To finally ride his own horse, he couldn’t be more joyous. 

“Well, we can only hope he didn’t recognise either of us. He’s sure to report this when he wakes.” 

As they ride along towards the stagecoach, Ethan holds on and watches his horse move under them. 

“A damsel in distress and a businessman in a top hat? They’ll have the whole city as suspects.” Ethan replies. Mark’s following laughter could have him smiling for weeks. 

He might be in love. 

-

“There’s hardly much to tell. Makeup is very annoying to wear, turns out.” Ethan tells Tyler as they eat breakfast the next day. The man laughs. Everyone at the table’s listening in. Ethan peeks over to Mark, who’s talking to Hershel across camp, the leader being bummed out after his stronger explosives did nothing to the safe. 

As if he can feel eyes on him, Mark turns and meets his gaze. He smiles across the distance. Even this far away Ethan can see the feelings in his eyes. 

“He’s changed.” 

“Who?” Ethan asks, focusing back to the table, running a hand through his hair and tilting his head teasingly now that he knows Mark’s looking at him. He doesn’t have to check to know the man’s eyebrows are furrowing. 

“Mark. He’s different around you. If I weren’t afraid he’d shoot me for it I’d almost assume you two were in love.” Tyler jokes. He talks quietly, like he doesn’t want the rest of the table to hear. Ethan tries not to let his panic show. He stirs his stew and sees that Tyler doesn’t look disgusted. Just curious. 

“Well, he’s Mark. Isn’t everyone here a little in love with him?” 

Tyler laughs, nodding along.

“You’re right. I don’t know, maybe I’m just enjoying the love stories Kat keeps telling too much.” 

It’s as if Tyler doesn’t know homosexuality is illegal, or perhaps he just doesn’t care. Either way, Ethan can’t help but look back to Mark, wondering if love is too big of a word right now. Too soon. It’s too soon to love him, right? 

So why does Ethan feel so strongly for him already? Like he will die if they aren’t together. 

Maybe he’s just dramatic. 

-

“The trip to O’Creagh’s run will be a long one. The grizzlies are too deep in snow to go through so we would have to go around. It would be an even longer trip than Saint Denis because of that. We’d have to set up camp once or maybe even twice depending on how the horses take the trip. It would be too cold right now, and it’s only getting colder.” 

Mark brings it up out of the blue that night in the tent. Ethan lies on him, tracing shapes with his finger on the man’s chest. 

“So what’s the plan?” 

“If it’s money your father left, I assume it’s in a lockbox, or secure in some way. He had to of known you wouldn’t be able to make it up there for some time. If we go through the grizzlies we could be there in a day, but the horses can’t make it in this snow. So..we go when the first snow melts.” 

It’s months away, but Ethan doesn’t mind. He is sort of afraid of what he will find in that tree. Or worse, afraid of finding nothing at all. Bernard’s sister could’ve found it first. Whoever father sent to store it could’ve taken it for himself. 

Either way, Ethan’s just fine right here. Safe in Mark’s arms. 

-

DECEMBER

Ethan wakes up a week later and decides he’s going to open the safe for Hershel. Before, he refused to give the code to a gang of outlaws. People he didn’t trust in the slightest. 

Now, they’re the people keeping him alive. Fed and healthy. Protected. 

He sneaks out of the bed, telling Mark he’s having a piss when the man stirs. Thankfully, he just mumbles sleepily and lies back down. 

Ethan steps through the loud snow over to Hershel’s tent. 

“Hershel?” He whispers into the flap. He can hardly see the leader’s frame on his cot. The man, a light sleeper, sits up, reaching blindly for his rifle. 

“Ethan? What’s wrong?” 

The boy steps into the tent, looking back to make sure nobody’s come out of their own. 

“Nothing, nothing. I have something to tell you.” He steps over to Hershel’s bed and sits at his feet. The man lights a lantern and offers him an extra blanket from under his cot. 

Ethan tells him everything. All about his childhood. Who he really is. The real reason they had to leave their last camp. He leaves out other essential details, like the letter and him and Mark, of course. He doesn’t know Hershel very well. The man is the leader of this gang, pretty busy most of the time, but he seems kind. Trustworthy despite his lifestyle choices. Not trustworthy enough to tell him about a hidden inheritance in a tree trunk, though. 

“So you want to open the safe for me? Why?” 

“You’ve given me so much. You let me stay here and run with you. You had no reason to trust me but you did because Mark did. Even now, after learning I’m the reason you had to move, you still look at me kindly. I just..I don’t need whatever is in that safe. I can only hope it can repay you for what you’ve done for me.” 

“I never was going to kill your family. If we had made it there before Peter, we were only going to tie them up and take the safe. I’m sorry..I’m sorry we didn’t arrive first.” 

Ethan smiles, wiping at his glossy eyes. 

“It’s not your fault. This might be all for nothing. Father could have easily chosen random numbers.” Ethan stands from the bed and crouches down in front of the safe. Hershel sits behind him, holding up the lantern for light. 

The safe itself is one of the most expensive ones money can buy these days. With a single dial to open it up, it’s near impossible to crack due to the code having to be four numbers and the huge dial going all the way to 99.It’s millions of possibilities for the code. Four digits 01-99. He hardly knew his father. He can only hope the man was sentimental enough to make his safe something he could figure out. 

He tries his parents anniversary date, then his mother’s birthday. His grandmothers birth and then death date. 

Frowning, he stares at the dial in front of him, unsure what to try next. His father wasn’t the most fatherly type, he doubts he would make one of his son’s birthdays his safe code. Right? 

Andrews doesn’t work. That only leaves his own. 

With shaky fingers, he dials it in. 10-24-18-80. 

There’s a click. Ethan gasps in surprise and turns the handle. The door opens. He looks back at Hershel. 

“What is it?” 

“My birthday. I didn’t think he really, I dont know, cared enough.” 

Hershel sets a hand on his shoulder. Finally, Ethan pulls open the safe door. Inside, a single gold bar sits halfway on top of a photo. 

“Well, I would say I’m disappointed but I feel it would be rude right now.” Hershel laughs dryly. Ethan smiles and picks up the heavy gold bar, handing it to the man. The guy smiles but remains right there as Ethan lifts the photo. 

He doesn’t remember it, but he can tell why. He must be hardly 2 in the photo. Held in his father’s arms. Andrew sat in mother’s lap. They all grin at the camera. His father, though, stares down at toddler Ethan, smiling in a way the boy has never seen him smile. 

Ethan holds the photo to his heart and wipes his tears away. Hershel sets the gold bar on the ground in front of them carelessly and pulls him into a hug. 

“I’m sorry, I thought there would be more...he never let us touch his safe.” 

“Don’t apologise that the safe I stole from your fallen family isn’t filled to the brim, kid. This is a 400 ounce troy bar. It will buy us more clothing for the winter. Ammunition to protect ourselves. Upgrades for the camp and we could even go for some cattle if we wanted to and _still_ have money for the rest of the winter. I’d be surprised if this safe ever held more than three of these at a time.” He laughs, picking up the heavy gold to show him. Ethan smiles through his tears, feeling better now. 

“Hershel quick—oh my god, Ethan.” Mark bursts into the tent barefoot and holding his shotgun, eyes bleary like he’s only just woken up. He carelessly drops the weapon and steps over to them, falling to his knees with them as he looks over the scene. 

“You alright, son?” Hershel asks, eyes wide in surprise. Mark laughs, rubbing his eyes, clearly still waking up. 

“Thought he was taken or something. Used to being the first one awake.” Mark shakes his head and peeks into the now empty safe, then at the gold bar and the photo, then finally lands on Ethan’s eyes. 

The boy smiles, wanting to take his hand to show he’s alright, but hyperaware of Hershel sitting right next to him.

“Okay, this needs to stay in this tent,” the leader says, pointing down at the photo, “not everyone will understand this news. I don’t want any harm to come to you because someone decides to give you up to James’ gang for money or something. For now, you two found the code on a slip of paper when you went back. You gave it to me immediately. I decided to wait a week until the excitement of your return had calmed down. Okay?” 

The boys nod. Ethan feels a surge of happiness. For the first time, he truly feels like a part of the gang. To have the leader protect him like this, he feels like he is a part of them. A part of the family. 

Suddenly, he’s grateful they didn’t stay in Saint Denis. Mark was right. Hershel isn’t the type of guy you betray and leave. 

-

JANUARY 

The gang sits on logs around a campfire. It’s getting a bit late but people are telling tales of love or horror around the fire, just having a good time. Mark sits across the fire from him, next to Tyler. Ethan chats with Bob, who apparently used to work for the English. 

“Alright, I think we all know what time it is!” Wade approaches the gang from his tent, wielding a guitar. Everyone claps excitedly. 

“I didn’t know Wade could play!” Ethan gasps in delight. 

“He can’t.” Bob replies. Ethan gives him a puzzled look but the man just grins. 

Wade steps over a log and hands the guitar to Mark, who holds his hands up in surrender.

“No, no, it’s too cold, I haven’t sung in months.” He says. Ethan hadn’t even considered music with this gang for some reason. He’s grown up with music, learning to play popular songs on the piano with his mother. He would always look forward to when she’d bring home a new song, the sheet music still warm from the press sometimes. 

Everyone begs him to play, and Ethan finds himself clapping along. Mark looks almost nervous. He laughs, tucking his hair behind his ear and straightening the guitar in his lap, eyes flickering to Ethan’s momentarily. 

The boy grins, leaning forward in anticipation. 

“Alright, alright, y’all calm down. I’ll play _one_ , but only one!” 

He clears his throat, plucks the strings a few times like he’s remembering how they sound. Everyone quiets down, watching him and waiting for the music to start. 

As soon as he starts to play, Ethan recognises the song. It’s a hit from 1889, ten years ago. He doesn’t remember the composer but he knows the lyricist, Clement Scott. His mother has played it on occasion a few times, as it’s a popular song. He’s never heard it on guitar before. In fact, Mark plays it slower, more lovingly. He glances up at Ethan once more as he starts to sing. 

“Oh promise me that some day you and I, will take our love together to some sky, where we can be alone and faith renew, and find the hollows where those flowers grew..” 

His voice is like sweet honey. Ethan hasn’t heard many singers in his lifetime, but he can’t expect they sound much better than this. His voice sends chills up his spine. The outlaw watches his fingers play, like he’s making sure he hits the right notes, but he keeps peeking up to Ethan, like a secret. 

“Those first sweet violets of early spring, which come in whispers, thrill us both, and sing, of love unspeakable that is to be, oh promise me, oh promise me. Oh promise me that you will take my hand, the most unworthy in this lonely land, and let me sit beside you, in your eyes, seeing the vision of our paradise..”

It’s almost like he’s singing right to him. Ethan hears the lyrics he knows by heart in a whole new way, somehow. They mean something deeper suddenly. 

“Hearing God's message while the organ rolls, its mighty music to our very souls, no love less perfect than a life with thee, oh promise me, oh promise me.” 

When he’s finished, the gang claps and cheers. Ethan claps along as well, stomach fluttering. 

“Never heard him play that one before. Usually it’s drunk songs or tunes about whores.” Bob laughs. Ethan smiles, standing up. 

“I’m a bit nippy, I’m gonna turn in.” The boy steps over the log and heads for the tent. Bob calls goodnight after him. 

He only stands there for a minute before the flap draws and Mark steps inside. 

“Was that—“

“I love you.” 

They speak at the same time. Ethan’s eyes widen. Mark’s hands clench and unclench nervously at his sides. 

“What?” 

“I love you.” Mark repeats, stepping closer and taking his hand. 

“Mark—“

“I meant every word out there. I want to be with you. I meant my promise back in Saint Denis. I want to build us a house. Make it on our own. Just you and I.” 

“I-isn’t that song about death?” 

“I don’t know. I interpret it as, well, promise me you and I will love each other at a level that is unspeakable.” Mark’s never said anything so poetic as this. Ethan laughs nervously as Mark pulls him in, hands on his waist. He dips his neck, giving him a sweet kiss. A loving kiss. 

“Oh, Mark..” Ethan murmurs when he pulls back. He giggles in joy as Mark walks him backwards and presses him down on the cot. 

“Well? Do you promise?” 

“Yes. I love you too.” 

Mark grins ecstatically and kisses him once more. 

-

FEBRUARY 

“How do I know if he’s nervous?” Ethan asks, hands shaking where he holds Spencer’s reigns. By himself. Alone on his horse. 

They’re taking it at a slow trot for now, Mark riding alongside him on Chica, teaching him everything he needs for proper horse riding. 

“If you’re nervous, he’s nervous. You have to relax. Trust him.” 

“Relax.” Ethan repeats to himself, taking a deep breath. He puffs his chest a bit, trying to feel tall. Strong. A man on a horse rather than a 19 year old riding on his own for the first time in his life. 

“That’s good. Let’s take it up a bit.” Mark clicks his tongue and Chica goes just a tad faster. Spencer copies. Ethan finds that he doesn’t tense up this time. He’s relaxed. He’s focused. He trusts his horse and his horse trusts him. 

“Faster!” Ethan says before he can back out, kicking Spencer as he was taught so he’ll move from a trot to a gallop. 

Mark cheers in his dust, following along the path they’ve made while training him. 

“You might beat me back this time!” Mark calls from behind him. Ethan laughs and goes even faster. He’s never gone this fast before, but he’s confident. 

Ethan’s off his horse and hitching him by the time Mark catches up. The man slides off his horse and picks Ethan up into a hug, spinning him around. The boy laughs as he’s spun. 

“You did it! You can ride!” Mark says, so genuinely excited for him. He sets him back on his feet an nearly leans in for a kiss. 

They both remember the others at camp. Nobody’s particularly staring, but it’s too much of a risk. Anyone could see. 

Their smiles hardly drop, but it’s a setback. To not be able to proudly kiss the person he loves, it hurts a little every time. 

Ethan finishes hitching his horse and tries not to think about it too much. 

-

MARCH

“Okay, once you whistle, he’s going to look for just a second. You have to aim and hit him before he moves, which he will.” 

“O-okay.” Ethan stares at the rabbit metres away, bow in his hands. Mark, crouched next to him, has been desperately trying to teach him to hunt. Ethan’s yet to hit a shot. His aim is fine, but there’s just something about aiming for a living animal. He ends up shaking last second every time. 

“When you’re ready. He has plenty of bait, take your time.” Mark whispers, then he quiets. 

Ethan aims the bow, watching the rabbit eat the bait. He takes a few breaths, then he draws the string and whistles. 

The rabbit’s head lifts, and he looks right at him. Surprisingly, the animal doesn’t scurry away within a second. He just sits there, staring right into Ethan’s soul. The boy exhales shakily. He’s perfectly aimed. All he has to do is release the arrow and he will have gotten his first kill. 

He lowers the bow. At his movement, the rabbit finally hops away. 

“Ethan..”

“I’m sorry, okay? I couldn’t. Did you see how he was looking at me? It’s like he was giving me time to kill him! Like he was telling me it’s okay!” Ethan tosses the bow in the snow like a child and covers his face with his hands. 

Mark laughs, rubbing a hand over his back. 

“It’s okay. We have plenty of time. You know, I cried like a baby the first time I killed a deer. Shot her perfectly from afar. Went to pick her up and she had a fawn, sitting there shaking next to it’s dead mother, wondering why she wasn’t moving.” 

“That’s so sad,” Ethan pouts, watching Mark shiver just at the memory, he tries to picture Mark as a child, finding a baby deer orphaned in the snow, “how old were you?” 

“Twenty-one.” Mark says sheepishly. Ethan can’t help but laugh. Mark follows along, pushing him away playfully. 

“You’re such a sweetheart under that thick gunslinger skin!” Ethan coos, giggling as Mark flicks snow onto him. 

“Fuck off.” 

“You love me.” 

“Yeah..I do.”

-

APRIL

Ethan’s halfway through his morning chores when he realises why it’s so bright. He drops the bucket of water in surprise, looking up at the sky. The sun beams down, no clouds in sight. 

Looking around camp, he notices what he missed in his rather tired morning state. The snow is quickly disappearing from the tops of the trees. The creek nearby roars just that bit louder due to more water being produced. 

The snow is starting to melt. 

Scanning the camp, Ethan finds Mark is already looking at him from his spot at the ledger book. He sends Ethan a nod, and the boy swallows nervously. 

The trip to O’Creagh’s Run has been at the back of his mind for months, but he didn’t expect it to already be happening. Picking the water bucket back up, he ignores the flipping of his stomach and continues his chores. He can ignore it for one more day, surely. 

-

“I’m scared.” 

“Of what?” Mark asks as they trot along the path on their respective horses. 

“I don’t know..finding a lot. Or finding nothing at all. Or finding a letter saying I was an orphan and my real mother was a prostitute who slept with, like, the president or something.” 

“That’s oddly specific.” 

“Well, I’ve had a lot of time to come up with theories. Really I’m expecting something more like the safe. A bit of money and a photo.” 

“You call that gold bar which singlehandedly got us through winter ‘a bit of money’?” Mark raises an eyebrow at him. Ethan shrugs, reaching down to give Spencer a pet. 

“I guess not. I just don’t want to get my hopes up. I want, like, a heartfelt explanation from my father about why he did what he did, but I know I shouldn’t expect it.” 

“Just think about the journey instead. It’s your first time going to Grizzlies East. It’s really pretty there. The Run itself is gorgeous. You’ll like it.” 

Ethan nods, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He doesn’t know why he’s so anxious, but he knows he will be fine with Mark here to guide him. 

-

“I-is—“

“That’s her alright.” 

They pull the horses to a stop. The lake is beautiful. It’s quite muddy everywhere due to the melting snow, but it doesn’t lessen the quality much. Ethan can see Bernard’s sister’s cabin up ahead. 

He reaches into his coat pocket and takes the letter in his hands. 

“Okay. 20 paces North from a fence post marked with an E. Then 30 paces East. We should find ourselves at a large tree with a hole facing the mountain, hidden with a fake bird’s nest, apparently.” 

They ride to the cabin and hitch the horses. Bernard’s sister is thankfully not home. Ethan doesn’t think he could face her right now, he’s never met her but doubts she would approve of her dead brother’s employer running with outlaws now. 

The fence post is indeed marked, the small E carved with a knife, only noticeable if specifically looked for. Ethan runs a finger over the carving. He’s sure his father sent an errand boy to set this up, but he can’t help but hopefully imagining his father bent over the post, carving the E and writing the letter as he goes, maybe. 

They follow the directions. The tree is nestled up close to the steep mountain. Nobody would walk behind it and see the hole unless they were looking for it. It’s an excellent hiding spot. He wonders how his father knew of it anyway. 

“I’m too nervous. You look.” Ethan says, unable to force himself to step up behind the tree and have a look. 

Mark complies, squeezing behind the tree. He takes out bundles of sticks and leaves, the fake nest, undoubtedly, then he just looks for an uncomfortably long period of time. 

“Well?” Ethan asks, impatient. Mark’s eyes are wide, mouth dropped open as if he’s seeing god himself. 

“T-there must be ten, maybe even fifteen.” Mark chokes out. Ethan finally can’t stand his curiosity. He squeezes in between Mark and the tree and peeks into the hollowed out hole. 

The hole is a lot deeper than he expected, but it’s probably that way so father could’ve fit all these fucking gold bars in there. Ethan stares with wide eyes. They look like the one that was in the safe. He can’t help but feel like these were in that safe before they were placed here.

One by one, they take the gold bars out, counting as they go, filling the bags they brought along just in case. Thankfully, as they definitely need them. 

“Eleven. I’ve never seen this many of this size together. Even the richest men I know never had more than two or three.” 

“How much is that worth?” Ethan asks as Mark secures the bags. The things might just give out with all that weight, even distributed as they are. 

“Well, this size is $8,000 for a single, so, fucking $88,000.” 

Ethan exhales shakily, overwhelmed with this information. 88 thousand could give him anything. He could literally go anywhere he likes. Buy anything he wants. 

“Okay, don’t freak out,” Mark says, “take some breaths, I’m gonna get the horses and we need to take this straight to the bank.” 

Ethan does as he says, eyes wide on the filled bags. He watches as Mark loads the heavy things onto the horses, two bags on each horse. 

“The bank?” Ethan asks as they climb onto their animals. 

“Yeah, the bank. We ride to the nearest coach and go straight to Saint Denis. The bank there is the most secure. I’m sure your father already had an account for you set up for when you got these. I won’t be able to come in with you..we might have attempted a robbery once.” 

Ethan laughs, feeling delirious as they ride. He’s suddenly paranoid. These bags don’t give much to the imagination. Anyone who passes will hardly mistake the shapes for biscuit packages. 

“What if—“

“Stop worrying so much, everything will be fine, alright?” 

Ethan’s hands tighten on Spencer’s reigns as they pass a stranger. He looks back but the man just rides on, no intent to gun them down and steal the loot. To be honest with himself, he’s a bit disappointed. The money is great and plentiful and all, but Ethan had hoped for a letter. An explanation of this murder that is the cause of all of this. An explanation of how Andrew was accidentally guilty in the murder as well. Ethan will never get these answers, and he has to be fine with that now. 

“Alright.”

-

“So?” 

“I just go back in if I need to take any money out. You still have the three for camp?” 

Mark nods, patting the bag hooked to Chica’s saddle. 

“You sure you want to give all three to them? We did rob your family, you know.” 

Ethan rolls his eyes with a smile. Having the bars in the bank takes a heavy weight from his shoulders. Literally. 

“Yes three. One to thank him for everything he’s done. The other two so he’s not mad when he loses two members.” 

Mark frowns as they ride back to the stagecoach. 

“He won’t lose us completely. We’ll visit each other. Send letters, probably.” Mark doesn’t look sad at the thought of leaving anymore. He seems excited, really. 

It’s nearly midnight when the stagecoach rolls into strawberry. They climb back into their horses and ride back towards camp. It’ll be at least a two hour ride if they’re quick. 

It’s nice, anyway, to just ride and talk. Mark has a way of speaking that just makes Ethan want to listen to him forever. 

An hour into the ride, they round a corner and a loud gunshot rings through the air. Spencer buckles under Ethan. The boy flies headfirst off of the horse, reacting just fast enough to lift his arms so they take the impact instead of his skull. 

He moans in pain, rolling through the grass to take cover behind a rock as gunshots spray around him. He lifts his head, hissing through the pain, to look for Mark. 

The man stands in front of Chica, surrounded by three dead men. A metre away, Peter mirrors his stance. Their guns pointed at each other. 

“Just you this time, Fischbach. Don’t make this difficult. Hand the bag over and I’ll just leave quietly with the boy.”

“Over my dead body.” Mark replies, spitting the words. There’s blood splatter on his face and clothing, but he’s uninjured. 

“Have it your way.” Peter says, his finger slipping onto the trigger. 

It only takes one shot. The man falls to the ground, a hole in his temple. Ethan’s hand is steady as can be. The single bullet in Bernard’s pistol plenty enough for the job. Mark looks over to him, eyes wide. 

“Fuck, Ethan.” He drops his own gun carelessly and rushes over to him, falling to his knees and taking his other hand in his gingerly. 

“I think it’s broken,” The man says, breathing heavily, “fuck, you saved my life. I love you, I love you.” 

He leans forward to pull him close, lips to his forehead, seemingly not giving a shit that the gunfire could have attracted strangers. 

“Spencer.” Ethan whimpers, not giving his broken wrist much mind. He looks over at his horse, still on the ground. Fuckers took the horse’s life just to get the upper hand. Ethan just feels pissed off. He almost wishes he’d have shot Peter in the leg instead. Kept him alive so he could slice his throat instead, watch the light drain from his eyes. 

Maybe he’s just finally feeling the anger from his family’s death as well, but Mark was right. It’s not closure to get revenge. Yet, it sure does feel good all the same. Like ridding the world of a disease. Peter was a disease. Some nasty one that gives you the shits, probably. 

“We need to get you back to camp, fix that wrist before it gets infected.” Mark pulls him to his feet. Ethan breaths through the pain as he limps. Being thrown from a horse isn’t his favoured way to be injured. Not that he has a favoured way. The pain might be making him a little dizzy. 

“I might pass out.” Ethan whines. The adrenaline seeps out of him as if it’s being sucked with a straw. He looks back to his dead horse, wanting to wail in despair, wanting to go back in time and leave Spencer with that kind man back in the city, as he’d still be alive if they’d never taken him. 

He doesn’t have the highest pain tolerance. Thankfully, Mark is there to catch him when it all turns black. 

-

“It’s kind of badass.” 

Ethan deadpans, picking at the hard bandages keeping his wrist straight while it heals. Thankfully, he’d been out when the they’d set his bone or whatever they did. All he knows is the medicine he was given worked wonders for the pain he woke up with. 

“Not badass to have a weak wrist.” Ethan sighs. Tyler raises an eyebrow like he can’t belief what he’s hearing. 

“You do know you killed one of the most disgusting gang leaders around here, right? Badass. You’re officially an outlaw now.” 

Ethan chuckles. It sort of does make him feel better to think of it that way. 

“I’m hardly an outlaw. I have legal money in a bank. Nobody’s sending bounty hunters after me.” 

“Exactly! It’s the best disguise. Nobody will expect the city boy to be the one to pull the trigger.” Tyler smiles at Mark as the man sits. 

“It’s not like that. I couldn’t even kill a rabbit. It’s different when someone’s pointing a gun at your—your friend.” Ethan feels Mark’s hand place on his thigh under the table. He inches higher and higher, stopping before he actually touches anything. Ethan tries to focus on the conversation and ignore Mark’s seductions. 

“That’s true. Oh I’m sorry about your horse.” 

Ethan nods along, carefully ignoring Mark’s touches. He peeks across camp to the sky, willing the sun to set quicker. 

Mark has to cover Ethan’s mouth so the whole camp doesn’t figure them out. The boy writhes in pleasure as Mark presses inside of him, his casted wrist held above them out of the way. 

“Can’t wait to hear you again. When we live on our own I’m going to make you scream.” Mark whispers dirtily in his ear, his thrusts increasing in pace as he gets close. 

“Mmmmf.” Ethan moans from under Mark’s hand, toes curling. 

“Mark—oh! Oh my—sorry!” Hershel backs out of the tent in horror. Mark stills above him, eyes widening. He removes his hand. 

“Most people announce themselves before bursting in, at least!” Mark complains to the entry flap. 

“Im sorry, this is important! Come to my tent when..you’re done.” Hershel replies from outside. 

The mood is a bit deadened. They get dressed quickly, giving each other panicky looks the entire time. An outlaw wouldn’t report them, right? Right?

Hershel waits at his table when they enter his large tent. 

“About what you saw—“

“Save it, please. What you two do in your privacy is not my business, and I’d rather like to forget that sight as soon as possible. I needed to talk to you about your plans to leave.” Hershel shakes his head as he talks, like he’s trying to delete his memory. 

“It doesn’t have to be for months, years even. We’re fine here until the camp is safe enough to spare two people.” Ethan says. He knows Mark is a vital part of this camp. He’s seen that every day he’s been here. They’re pretty safe in this location, but it’s not the permanent camp, especially with how harsh the winter is here. 

“I think it’s time now, actually. I hate to see you two go, but the gold you’ve given us, well, we could get the camp our own house with enough rooms for everyone. Look, an old friend of mine, Arthur, got in touch to let me know his gang is planning to hit the bank by the end of next month. You need to go now and get those bars out. Buy yourself that land and get that farm built.” 

“But—“

“No excuses. This gang will without a doubt succeed in this robbery, they’re quite good. If you don’t want to lose that money you need to spend it right away.” 

Ethan sits down, filled to the brim with nervousness. This whole time he’d planned their home to be a future thing. A thing for, like, 24 year old Ethan or something. 

It’s a big step. Rest of their lives kind of step. The kind of step that could end in them getting a dog or something crazy like that. 

“So what’s the plan?”

-

JUNE

Ethan’s gotten into painting recently. He sits at the large sitting room window, painting the view of their farm on the canvas he splurged on. 

Mark steps into the room and gulps down a glass of water, sighing. 

“Alright. Stables are officially finished!” Mark grins. He’s a lot more handy then Ethan had expected of him. 

“I thought you were just feeding the animals, I could’ve—“

“Nah, I don’t mind working alone. Wanted to see that, anyway.” He comes up behind Ethan to get a closer look at the painting. The boy is getting a lot better as time goes on. He was terrible at shading when he first started. Now, it’s pretty accurate to the real view. 

“It needs something. It’s just a boring landscape.” 

“What if I go work on the fence? That’s within your view, right?” 

“Perfect!” Ethan claps excitedly. He’d love to take a stab at painting a person. Why he hasn’t thought of painting Mark already, he’ll never know. 

“Don’t get my bad side. Love you.” Mark bends down for a kiss then he’s out of the door. Ethan watches him walk through the yard towards the half finished fence. Midway across, the man turns and lifts his shirt, flashing him through the window. 

Ethan giggles at the silliness of it all. Mark gets to work on the fence and Ethan’s brush presses back to the canvas. 

He finds it hard to stop smiling, now. Especially when he’s is completely content, happy, and so in love. 

-

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t want to put this in the beginning note with the rest of the calculations bc I didn’t want to spoil the inheritance, but $88k in 1899 equates to about $2.7M today. Yes, that’s an M. If this fic was set in this year Ethan would have inherited nearly 3 million dollars. Just in case yall thought 88k didn’t sound like a lot haha. 
> 
> Ps, I loved writing this fic sm and I hope yall enjoyed it as much as I did. Pls leave your thoughts in the comments I cherish your feedback more than anything. 
> 
> Pss, I’ll be posting concept art I did for this fic over on IG: ohpleaselarry. If you don’t go on ao3 often, you can follow me there as I’ll be posting new fic updates there when I post new fics! 💚


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